The False Chevalier Part 17

"Their legs will crack this very morning in Paris at eight o'clock."

"Those living beings whom I have seen, that cruel death!" she cried.

"Where is the Prime Minister? Christ help me!"

She took no heed of her flimsy, incongruous dress, her fatigue, her need of sleep. Her soul was overwhelmed with the Christian desire to save, and in her sudden energy the girl over-awed the reptile before her.

"Why do you wait, sir?" she exclaimed. "Conduct me to the Minister instantly!"

"What, at this hour? In this manner? Does my lady reflect what will be said to-morrow throughout the town?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"You have my command," she answered him, motioning to her maid to follow.

Sometimes leading, and sometimes instructed where to go, the Abbe preceded her through a long maze of chambers and pa.s.sages, in each of which sentinels were posted, until they came to the antechamber of Monsieur de Calonne.

By good luck, the Minister, like herself, had not yet retired, but was signing papers.

His astonishment was unbounded at both her appearance and her agitated and remarkable request.

"Baroness," said he, "these men for whom you have such singular though meritorious sympathy have flagrantly wronged yourself and the King. How much better are they than the thousands who suffer the same fate every year under the well-weighed sentences of the bench?"

"What rends me, sir, is to see human beings die, into whose faces I have looked."

"That speaks well for your heart, Madame; but what about the laws?"

"Are laws just under which three lives are set against a few trinkets?"

"Well, Baroness, that is the business not of you nor me, but of the magistrates. You admit at least the guilt of the criminals against society?"

"What has society done for these creatures? What have we who live at ease in Versailles done to make them good citizens? But I cease to argue, my lord, and know that in doing so I am presuming beyond any rights I might have. Listen, then, with your good heart--for all France knows the good heart of Monsieur de Calonne--to the intercession of a woman for three of her dying, neglected, and miserable fellow-men."

"They have a fair and powerful advocate," he said, smiling agreeably.

Calonne no longer resisted her appeal, but wrote the necessary order.

Putting profound grat.i.tude as well as respect into her three parting curtseys, she flew with it to her chamber.

"Get me an _enrage_," she exclaimed to Jude. An _enrage_ was one of those lean post-horses specially used for quick travel to and from Paris, a distance they could make in a couple of hours.

She would trust no one with the Minister's order, but rapidly threw on a cloak and cap during the absence of the Abbe.

_Enrages_ were generally to be had on short notice day or night, but this night it seemed as if there were none in all Versailles; her anxiety and impatience increased, and she paced the room in agony of mind. At last Jude returned, and announced the vehicle.

Descending hastily, she stepped into it, still commanding the Abbe to accompany her. As it rattled forward, she kept her eyes fixed impatiently upon the face of her watch. Half-past six--three-quarters--seven--the quarter--the half--at length they were checked at the Chatelet by the crowd surging and swaying around them, with the wave-like confusion of the riot, heard the musketry, and learned from a guard who ran to protect her the cause of the trouble, and that the execution was about to take place on the Place de Greve.

Jude, in cowardly terror, fell back in a stupor, but the coachman was of that Parisian type to whom popular danger was like champagne, and on the promise of a louis he lashed his foaming horse to the Place de Greve.

The shrieks of the second victim and the shouts and drums informed Cyrene only too well what was pa.s.sing. She leaped from the cabriolet, and rushed for the platform.

The strange sight of a beautiful Court lady in ball dress, pushing her way forward in such agitation, had an instantaneous effect on the crowd, and they opened a way to the centre. Stumbling past them, she threw out the paper she carried towards the officer-in-command, and fell fainting at his feet. Hugues de la Tour thus escaped execution.

CHAPTER XVIII

MADAME L'ETIQUETTE

The Oeil de Boeuf, the famous hall of the courtiers, had a magical enchantment for Lecour. When he first rested his red-heeled shoes upon its polished floor, having entered in the train of the Prince de Poix, the courtiers were awaiting the pa.s.sing of the King. There were many faces he had not seen at Fontainebleau, and even those familiar showed no sign that he was remembered here. The person who stood at his elbow was an old officer, who had likewise entered with the Prince.

"I am come from the Province of Saintonge," said he, seeming glad to unburden his confidences, "and I am at Court to obtain a great honour for my son, who deserves it--my son, sir, the Chevalier de la Violette, a very gallant youth. At Saintes, under de Gra.s.se, he led the boarding of two of our frigates, one after the other, which had been taken by the enemy, and recovered them both. After the battle, he was taken up for dead, wounded in eleven places. The deck was literally washed with his blood. I am positive the thing has only to be mentioned to the King himself for him to recognise my son's claims and appoint him sub-lieutenant in the Bodyguard. I seek that for him because of the great advantages and favours attached to it. The Prince de Poix must first be induced to recommend him, for the prize is in his company; but I have had the wit to secure in my favour the Princess's secretary, an Abbe to whom I have given forty good louis, and who is to have a hundred more in case of success. The secretary, sir, is very important. What a shame how these low-born knaves rob us poor n.o.bles, and make officers and canons. We must, perforce, 'monsieur' them, and salute them a league off as if they were their masters. The secretary even of the wife is very important. The secretary is more important than the mistress nowadays"; and the old officer laughed at his provincial witticism.

Lecour's eyes fell on a young guard, standing with sword drawn at the door of the King's antechamber. "How secure is the place of these!" he sighed to himself; "how insecure is mine!" A friendly voice sounded, and he noticed Grancey stood before him. "Follow me before the King arrives," said he. "My service is on the Queen to-day." Germain followed. The air of mystery, characteristic of the courtiers, seemed concentrated in their looks towards him as he pa.s.sed. Their speculations pieced together his entry with a powerful Prince and his familiarity with a favoured officer of the Bodyguard; and his pleasing figure was judged to give him the probability of advancement, to what height in the royal favour no one could foretell. Those among whom he pa.s.sed bowed low to the mysterious fortune of the _debutant_.

The door through which they went led into the great Gallery of Mirrors, a much more vast and beautiful hall than the Oeil de Boeuf. It was the most attractive, in fact, in the Palace, for its range of long windows commanded, from the centre of the eminence, the whole view of the terrace and _parterres_, which was reflected upon the opposite side by mirrors lining the walls. Every s.p.a.ce, every door-panel here, even the locks, was each an elaborate work of art. The ceiling was covered with the great deeds of Louis Quatorze from the brush of le Brun. Antique statues and caskets of ma.s.sive silver, mosaic tables of precious stones, and priceless cabinets, encrusted with the bra.s.s and tin-work executed by the celebrated Buhl, furnished the Gallery.

Quitting Lecour, de Grancey stepped to the centre, and gave the word--

"Gentlemen of the Bodyguard, to your posts of honour!" and thus taking command of the detachment, who were gathered in a corner of the hall, he entered on his duty of disposing and inspecting them. No sooner was this completed than a rustling in the Oeil de Boeuf informed them that the King was pa.s.sing. Shortly afterwards a noise like thunder was heard, and the throng of courtiers poured in from the Oeil de Boeuf, and filled the great Gallery of Mirrors. They had scarcely arranged themselves when Germain heard a cry of "The Queen!" and beheld the radiant Marie Antoinette advancing. The beautiful mistress of France pa.s.sed along in state with her suite, bestowing on one and another the attention she considered due, to some a smile, to two or three a curtsey, to many merely a glance. Noticing the humble worship in Germain's eyes, his face and the exploit at Fontainebleau came back to her. She stopped, therefore, as was sometimes her wont, and said graciously, "Monsieur, we do not forget brave men," pa.s.sing onward again. Instantly the Court noticed the event, and exalted him in its esteem accordingly. But before he could enjoy it, the entire scene was driven temporarily from his thoughts and became a-whirl about another figure of which in the pa.s.sing train he became suddenly aware. It was the cold, impa.s.sive, scrutinising face of an aged dame of such overweening pride and keenness that he seemed to feel himself pierced through by her gaze. He had heard of the severity of the Marechale de Noailles--"Madame l'Etiquette"--Cyrene's patroness, and knew intuitively that this was she. The danger of his situation became instantaneously real. The train, accustomed to confusion, continued their advance. Only then did he notice that in charge of this old dragon walked Cyrene, her look fixed brightly upon his face.

CHAPTER XIX

THE COMMISSION

Lecour returned to the Hotel de Noailles overwhelmed with forebodings--one of those revulsions which come during long-continued excitement.

"End the farce, fool," he exclaimed to himself despondently, hurrying to the quarters of the Princess. She received him "in her bath,"--a circ.u.mstance not unusual and which meant a covered foot-bath and a handsome _deshabille_ gown.

"Madame," he said. An emotion he could not quite hide caused him to hesitate--"my days at Versailles are ended. I am come to present my grat.i.tude at your feet for the great kindness your Excellencies have shown me. Believe, Madame----"

"Monsieur de Repentigny, you speak of leaving us?"

"It is too true."

"Truth is the only thing I find ill-mannered. Why should you leave us?"

"Because, Madame, it is my duty."

"No gentleman should have duties. Are you discontented with Versailles?"

"On the contrary it is the place where I should be most happy."

"This is a riddle, then. Plainly, you are indispensable to us. Can I tempt you by some pension, some honour, some office? I have a benefice vacant, but should dislike to see those locks of yours tonsured. What do you say to the army?"

"It is impossible, for me."