The Oracle Glass Part 67

"With Madame de Montespan, love is political." I was calculating which was worse: Madame de Montespan's certain vengeance versus the King's probable punishment. There was, in addition, the hope she could keep quiet and produce another cash payment that I could convert into jewelry. The jewelry won.

"So, I take it, you are going to give a reading to Madame de Montespan?" asked Florent with a smile, as the door closed behind Mademoiselle des Oeillets.

"Yes. She probably has another rival on the horizon."

"She should quit looking at the horizon and start looking within her own household. I'd put money on the governess."

"Madame de Maintenon? She's far too old-the King likes little blond girls. What makes you think the governess has a chance?"

"You forget. It is my business to play cards with the greatest gossips in the kingdom," answered Florent, laughing.

"Astaroth wants to know why you are not wearing the excellent fishwife's disguise," announced Sylvie, as she brought me the drab habit of a dimesse, the collector of contributions for convents.

"Tell Astaroth that La Reynie hated the smell," I snapped. There is nothing more annoying than a maid who considers that she has been occupied by one of the ranking powers of h.e.l.l. I put on the heavy gown, coa.r.s.e shawl, and long white ap.r.o.n and attached the large, plain rosary to my waist-and found it really wasn't bad at all. Of course, what Astaroth didn't know was that I was going to Madame de Montespan's.

"Astaroth says when you return from the Chatelet, you must go to Madame, his faithful servant."

"Tell Astaroth that Mademoiselle Pasquier has no wish to be poisoned again. Madame may come here, if she has business."

"Astaroth has told Madame she must receive you graciously. Astaroth will accompany you to see to your safety. Astaroth senses great changes in the world. Great danger for the faithful."

"Sylvie, when will you tire of this Astaroth and evict him?"

"Astaroth would be angry, except that he knows you are a fool. Obey Astaroth, mortal, and then Sylvie may have the body again." Sylvie's voice took on a deep ba.s.s growl as the demon spoke directly through her. Her eyes looked quite odd. Insane, really. But crazy people have never bothered me. After all, I grew up with one. It was Gilles who was bothered. He looked as if his heart would break. Once he came up to me quietly and said, "This Astaroth, he is worse than a lover. Do you think an exorcism would help?"

"Doubtless, Gilles," I had told him, "but remember Astaroth is quite canny. You'll have to deceive him to get her to the exorcist."

"I'll remember that, Madame. It is good advice." But so far, Astaroth had bullied us all, even La Voisin, who was doubtless heartily sorry she'd unleashed him upon the world.

I had to wait in the antechamber to Madame de Montespan's bedroom while her ma.s.seuse finished. It was a long time. Some things never change, I thought. Even in disfavor, that woman would keep everyone waiting. At last the ma.s.seuse departed, and after a decent interval, I was shown in. Madame de Montespan had grown immense since the birth of her last child. A billowing robe de chambre of gold-embroidered green velvet covered the vast rolls of fat that shrouded her once-famous waist. Her face was drawn, lines had formed in the celebrated ivory complexion, and her eyes were sunken in the middle of dark circles. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at me, her aquamarine eyes dull with months of despair and an ocean of hate.

"I have a rival," she said.

"So I suspected," I answered.

"Mademoiselle de Fontanges. She is nineteen, fresh and new, and has never borne a child."

"I have been away from court. I really don't know anything anymore," I said.

"It appears to have done you good. You're not so pale, and you look younger than ever. Oh, G.o.d, that I could be young again! I spend three to four hours a day with my ma.s.seuse, but nothing seems to work. It is over. My reign of wit and taste. He has found a ridiculous little upstart with the brains of a donkey." She shook her head despairingly. Then she looked at me and said, "But he'll never imprison me. I have sworn it. He won't live to do it. I am a Mortemart. Compared to Mortemart blood, the Bourbons are upstarts. Shall an upstart imprison a Mortemart? Never, I say! The G.o.ds themselves are against it!" She got up and went to her armchair that sat beside her little writing table. "Pull up that stool, put out your gla.s.s. There is only one more thing I must know. Does this miserable, provincial know-nothing steal my rank of d.u.c.h.ess?"

I set up my things as she had requested, and Mademoiselle des Oeillets herself brought the pitcher of water.

"Here," said Madame de Montespan, "I took this from her as I laced her up last month. I prepared her for the King. Just as La Valliere once had to lace me up, now I must lace up the odious little Mademoiselle de Fontanges. Things come full circle, don't they? When my star was rising, I enjoyed humiliating La Valliere. And I would enjoy it still, if it were to happen all over again. She was a simpleton who did not deserve the exalted honor she received. She had no wit and taste to hold him with. She got brown in the sun. She did trick riding-can you imagine? What man can stay in love with a woman whose greatest achievement is to stand on the back of a cantering horse? But to have this new little country b.u.mpkin lord it over me, a woman of mind, culture, breeding-Tell me, tell me: Will she commit a social gaffe like La Ludres and destroy herself?" Madame de Montespan extended to me a tiny rosette, snipped from an embroidered chemise. Dutifully, I pressed it against the gla.s.s.

"Madame, I see a young girl with blond hair, a small mouth, a straight nose like a statue, and simple blue eyes-is that she?"

"Yes, to the life."

"Her eyes are sunken in...she looks tired, or ill-"

"Good," interrupted Madame de Montespan.

"She is riding in a pearl gray carriage..."

"...with the King?"

"Alone."

Madame de Montespan let out a sigh of relief. "But how many horses?" she asked.

"Let me see...they are rounding a curve in the country...trees are in the way...they are approaching a group of buildings...a convent? I can't tell, I've never seen them before. One, two, three...yes, four pairs of horses. Eight horses pull the carriage, Madame."

"Eight, eight! I knew it. Then it is she that will be the d.u.c.h.ess. I swear here before you, she won't live to enjoy it!"

"Madame, please contain yourself. Remember, you promised secrecy."

"Secrecy?" and her voice became sly. "Oh, yes. Strictest secrecy. For you, and for me, too, because for you to tell of this meeting is death. Yes, we shall be very, very quiet, won't we? Adieu, Madame de Morville; I will see you well rewarded for this." I left hoping the only reward she meant was the fat purse I was handed in the antechamber.

The trip to the rue Beauregard was less than pleasing. I sat in glum silence while Astaroth carried on about what an indignity he found it to ride in a carriage behind only two horses, whereas in h.e.l.l he was carried on an immense gold-and-jeweled throne on the backs of a thousand fiery imps, et cetera, et cetera.

"Sylvie," announced Mustapha, "if you do not get rid of that boring devil, I will start attending Ma.s.s again."

"Astaroth hopes you are joking."

"Of course, of course, Astaroth. Just make sure Madame doesn't play any nasty tricks on us, won't you?" I always believe in conciliating lunatics.

"Madame is an underling. Astaroth can make her vanish with a snap of the fingers."

A faint, lingering smell of the foul black smoke still seemed to cling to the curtains and the upholstery in the black parlor. It inflamed Sylvie, whose nostrils spread wide to catch the scent and whose eyes darted about as if seeing invisible things in the air. Myself, it made my stomach churn.

Nanon showed us into the back room where old Montvoisin shuffled out from the kitchen with a roll in his hand and said, "Well, how's the King Devil today, feeling fine?"

"Astaroth greets the husband of his devotee." Montvoisin chuckled at the greeting and sat down to consume his roll, brushing the crumbs off his lap. Sylvie sat down in Madame's best armchair to wait, and I took the plain backed chair. Nanon's eyes narrowed as she saw Sylvie sit, and she went off into the bowels of the house to summon her mistress. Soon after, La Voisin appeared, her black taffeta petticoats rustling beneath her dark green satin gown, which was fastened up at the hem to show a pale green satin lining. Her braids were knotted up beneath her lace house cap, with curls hanging down in front over her ears, almost concealing her heavy emerald earrings. Her dark eyes flashed annoyance as she spied Sylvie.

"Astaroth takes the armchair," announced Sylvie, her eyes alight with a strange fire. La Voisin seemed taken aback, looking first at one of us, then at the other. Then she shook her head slowly.

"d.a.m.n," I heard her mutter to herself. "Well, my dears," she went on in a voice oozing cheer, "let's let bygones be bygones. Would you like a gla.s.s of wine?"

"Astaroth doesn't drink," announced Sylvie. I bit my lip to keep a straight face. Astaroth was good company. From the corner, I heard old Montvoisin's high-pitched giggle.

"Antoine! Enough! Mademoiselle, I have business to discuss with you in my study."

"Astaroth's mighty power controls all business." Madame glared at Sylvie as she led the way to her cabinet and took her own large armchair behind the writing desk before Astaroth could get at it. I took the plain chair on the other side of the desk, and Sylvie, her eyes blazing, the armchair by the fireplace.