CHAPTER II

The Disgrace

While Mme. de Lauraguais lived she remembered the journey from Metz to Paris as the most utterly wretched affair of her life. For the Duchess, she expressed no opinion on the matter one way or the other. On leaving the coach of M. de Belle-Isle at Nancy, where they were to engage their own post-horses and chaise, they found that not only word of the King's illness, but also news of the dismissal of the favorite, had preceded them, and was in every one's mouth. Moreover all France was in a state of the wildest grief and anxiety over the _bien-aimé_, as he was commonly known. All churches were open, and in them masses, repeated by priests actually weeping with excited sorrow, were continually said. Men and women of every class left their business and pleasure to join in the universal prayers for the recovery of the King; and the Queen and dauphin set out together from Versailles with a company of Jesuits, to hasten to Louis' side. It was when news of his Majesty's danger was carried to the Queen that the eldest son, boy as he was, bethought him nimbly and made that intensely priggish and uncalled-for remark--the one reason that France really had for rejoicing that their Louis did recover:

"Poor people! You have, then, only me!"

It was said that he had a catalogue of similar phrases for various occasions written down for him by Père Griffet, and dutifully learned by heart.

At Epernay the carriages of her Majesty and la Châteauroux passed each other. By that time madame, in terror of the people who had threatened to mob her along the way, was travelling incognito in the humblest possible manner, changing places, when going through towns, with Antoinette. Even as it was, their progress was extremely difficult. Four women journeying alone, with no man but an attendant valet seated on the box, to manage for them, were treated with none too much respect in the France of those days. Ere they reached Paris, however, and before the Queen had arrived at her lord's side, a triumphant courier tore along the road on his way to the metropolis with the word that Louis' danger was over, that he would recover. Mme. de Châteauroux had arrived at Meaux, and was resting there overnight, when the news spread through the town. Mme. de Lauraguais had doubted its effect on her sister. When it was told her, however, the Duchess said, very quietly: "I thank the good God that it is so!" and lapsed again into that silence which she had persistently maintained since leaving the King. Later in the night, however, she despatched to Richelieu one of those strange, bourgeois epistles that have come down to us to be marvelled at as written by a gentlewoman.*

* _Lettres Autographes de Mme. Châteauroux_,--Library of Rouen: "I can well believe that so long as the King is feeble he will be in a great state of devotion; but, as soon as he is better, I bet I shall trot furiously through his head, and that in the end he will not be able to resist, but will quietly send Bachelier and Lebel to see what is become of me."

Meaux is not a great distance from Paris, but it was almost the 1st of September before the sisters reached their destination. They did not go to the Hôtel de Mailly, for the reason that Henri's wife, never fond of her superb sister-in-law, would very possibly fail to know her now in the time of her adversity. Rather, Mesdames de Lauraguais and Châteauroux retired to a small hôtel in the Rue du Bac, which the favorite had inhabited before. On August 28th they arrived, travel-stained, weary, but mightily relieved in heart at being safe at their journey's end. The little house was desolate enough when they entered it, but, with the combined efforts of the two maids, the valet Fouchelet, and the _concièrge_, a supper was contrived, some beds prepared, and a little fresh air, hot as it was, let through the musty rooms.

At one o'clock of the next day Mme. de Lauraguais, much refreshed by her sleep and revived by her chocolate, entered her sister's bedroom. Marie Anne was still in bed, wide-awake, however, and meditating on getting up.

"Good-morning, Anne. Here is the latest _Nouvelles à la Main_ from Mme. Doublet's. Jeanne obtained it for me, I don't know where, possibly at Henri's."

"And what does it say? What--of--Louis?"

Elise's expression changed. "Oh--there is little of him."

"Tell me at once. What has been done now? I am, perhaps, no longer Duchess?"

"No, no! You mistake. There is only his 'expression of regret for the flagrancy of my former life, the bad example I have set my people--a promise to amend for the future, God granting me a life to lead with justice and righteousness.'* That is all."

* _The Old Régime_, Lady Jackson, vol. i., p. 309.

Mme. de Châteauroux's lip curled, but she said nothing. After an instant's pause she struck a little gong at her side, and, at Antoinette's quick appearance, observed, languidly:

"I rise now. My garments at once." As the maid disappeared, she turned again to her sister. "Is that all your news?"

"No. Here is something which you will wish to hear. The Duc d'Agenois, arrived in Paris a month ago, is suffering an attack of fever at his hôtel in the Rue de l'Evêque."

"Ah! François again!" Again the Duchess was silent, and presently a curious smile came to play about her lips. Elise interrupted the reverie.

"I do not understand this, Anne. His exile--"

"Was for two years. It is ended. He served me well before, Elise. It is an omen. Through him I shall rise again. I tell you so."

"Be considerate this time, then. Do not banish him a second time. Tell me, how are you going to occupy yourself to-day? One will perish of ennui here."

"One must expect it. Let us become philosophers. I am going to write presently to du Plessis. If Claudine de Tencin is in the city, we will go to her. She will not refuse to receive me. To-morrow--I think that I will go to François. Yes, I mean it. Do not be shocked. To-day I despatch Fouchelet to Versailles with a billet to Mme. de Boufflers to send me my furniture, my toys, the rest of my wardrobe, the dogs, and--my servants. If we must live here, Elise, we will do so. I am a little tired of camps and of being continually interested in guns and armaments; this will be a rest, a relief, for a time. And after--when the Court returns--"

"Peste! That will be monstrous."

"Yes," responded la Châteauroux, with a vague smile, "that will be hard. We shall see, however. There will be--always--François. Send now to the Hôtel de Mailly and have Henri come to dine with us--off what we have!"

Half an hour later Mme. de Châteauroux sat in the salon of her _hôtel_ composing, with some difficulty, the epistle to Mme. de Boufflers, who, as mistress of the palace of the Queen, was obliged to remain at Versailles during the Queen's absence. It was not an easy thing to make acknowledgment of her disgrace to the woman who, next to herself, was the haughtiest at Court. But the letter was written in some way, and Fouchelet directed to depart with it as soon as he had finished serving dinner. Then Mme. de Lauraguais rejoined her sister, and they sat quiet, together, listening to the hum of the city, the city of the world, around them. Presently a bell sounded below. Some one was admitted. The two listened for a moment, and then Elise rose as the salon door opened and Henri de Mailly-Nesle came in.

"Dear Henri! You are so good!"

"Elise! You are well?"

The Marquis embraced the Lauraguais with some affection, and then turned to his youngest sister, who had not risen.

"Madame, you wished me to come, I believe?" he asked, gravely.

"But certainly! It is three months that we have not seen each other. Is it so unusual that I wish to behold you again?" she asked, loftily. It was not often that Henri attempted to reprove her even by a tone, and she would not permit it now.

Her manner gave her brother his cue, and, with a mental shrug, he accepted it. His manner was entirely different as, after certain conventional remarks, he asked: "You have not heard, perhaps, of the return of M. d'Agenois after his exile?"

"I learned it this morning," she responded, indifferently.

"He is ill, it seems. The air of Paris still does not agree with him." Henri took a meditative pinch of snuff. "Apropos of d'Agenois, Anne, have you heard from Claude?"

"Claude! No. Surely he is not also returned?"

"Not he. He is in one of the English colonies at a town with some impossible Homeric name."

"Ah! I warned him that he would perish of ennui among those savages."

"On the contrary, he would appear, from a letter which I have received, to be very well amused. From his accounts he has met there some delightful people--a charming girl--by name--peste! I forget the name--"

"It is no matter. Claude among the bourgeois! Who could fancy it? Eh bien, let us dine."

The dinner was not protracted, for none of the three found it very comfortable. At its end Mme. de Châteauroux rose abruptly, snapping a finger for Fouchelet, and turning to her brother with the dismissing command, "Summon our chairs, Henri."

Mailly-Nesle went off obediently to see that the chairs and link-boys were ready, while the sisters adjusted their scarfs and caps. The brother handed them out, gave directions as to their destination, and himself started to return on foot to his _hôtel_. The ladies were going to Mme. de Tencin, who lived near by, not far from the Orleans Palais Royal. Though they had dined at an unconventionally late hour, it was not yet dark, the sunset just fading into a twilight that played in softening shadows about the old streets, with their high, gabled wooden houses, and the occasional buildings of stone. The streets were quiet, for all Paris was at supper. A few chairs, a chaise or two, and now and then a coach with some familiar coat-of-arms on its panels passed them. Foot-passengers were few. In crossing the Place du Palais Royal, however, Mme. de Châteauroux, looking out of the open window of her chair, encountered the glance of a priest going the opposite way. She bowed, and he uncovered with a respect less marked than usual, walking on without any attempt to speak to her. It was the Abbé de Bernis.

"Victorine is here, then," concluded madame. "I wonder how she will receive me?" And at the question a pang smote the Duchess's heart. Her fall was accomplished; but its consequences she had not yet endured.

Twilight rose rapidly now, and it was dark enough for the torches of the link-boys to be lighted by the time the slow-moving chairs stopped at their destination. The Hôtel de Tencin was not imposing from the outside. It was narrow and high, with a larger building close on either hand. Inside, however, it was furnished like a palace, and, indeed, most of the guests who entered it spent the greater part of their lives in or about the abode of royalty.

Claudine Alexandrine Guérin de Tencin, the foremost figure in the salon life of the day, was a devoted friend to Mme. de Châteauroux. The favorite's grand manner and unapproachable bearing were after her own heart, and, since Marie Anne's accession to the highest post at Court, the leader of the salons had actually curbed her wit on behalf of her friend, and refrained from two excellent epigrams that would have seemed to slur the favorite's beauty and taste. It was but this afternoon that, in her small boudoir, Mme. de Tencin, with Victorine de Coigny and François de Bernis, had carried on a very animated discussion relative to the recent affair at Metz. After tea the abbé returned to the Lazariste, while Victorine, who had no life left after his departure, promised to remain with her friend during the evening.

Paris was empty at this season, and the regular salons were closed. The Duchesse du Maine had carried off all her pet philosophers and literati to Sceaux. That small portion of the Court which had not contrived to follow the army was scattered over France. The very Opera was shut. And thus Mme. de Tencin and Victorine resigned themselves to the most stupid of evenings after their small supper. At something after seven o'clock, however, the first valet appeared on the threshold of the small white-and-gold room, with the announcement:

"The Duchesse de Lauraguais. The Duchesse de Châteauroux."

Mme. de Tencin sprang to her feet. From just outside came the stiff rustle of feminine garments.

"Marie!"

"Claudine!"

The two women flung themselves into each other's arms, touched cheeks, first on one side, then on the other, and finally Mme. de Tencin held the Duchess off at arm's-length, gazed at her through a river of tears, and murmured, in a transport of grief: "My poor Anne!"

"Claudine! Cl--audine!"

Thereupon Mme. de Châteauroux closed her eyes and gracefully fainted away. Elise screamed. Mme. de Tencin, with moans of compassion, supported her beloved friend, and Victorine, shaking with inward laughter, ran away for sal-volatile, a glass of wine, and a fan. When she returned with these necessaries, la Châteauroux, reclining upon a satin sofa, was aristocratically reviving. After a few moments' application of the fan and salts, coupled by the consumption of the cordial, she was sufficiently restored to greet Victorine affectionately, and to recount, with a thousand airs and as many variations, her own story. It was a pathetic recital. Elise wept unrestrainedly, and even Mme. de Coigny became absorbed before the climax was reached.

"And so, actually, it was Maurepas, Anne, who betrayed you?"

"Actually, _ma chère_. There is no doubt of it. I have vowed his ruin."

"If any one could accomplish that, you are certainly the one to do so. But he is called indispensable to the ministry."

"He is the most implacable enemy in the world. But--I also am implacable, Claudine."

Mme. de Tencin shook her head and reflected mournfully.

"What will you do?" inquired Victorine, with some curiosity.

"I? I have a plan. It turns upon--whom do you think?"

"I never think. Tell us at once. I burn to know."

"François d'Agenois."

"Marie!"

"Again!"

The latter exclamation came from Victorine. The Duchess smiled at her. "Yes, again. The first time he was a complete success. I will make him so this time."

"Poor boy!"

"Yes--he will be banished for life. But there is no one else."

"What a pity that your cousin, Count Claude, is still away."

"Ah, yes. Henri says that he is in America. Imagine it. However, Claude was less useful. I had more feeling for him--my cousin, you understand."

"When do you visit the Duc d'Agenois?"

"Really, I do not know. I had thought of to-night. That would be a romance, would it not? But I am too fatigued. Our journey from Metz was frightful. You cannot conceive it."

"My poor darling! But do let us have some amusement. Victorine is in despair. There are no men in the city."

"I saw M. de Bernis in the Place du Palais," observed Elise.

Victorine colored delicately. "Dear Duchess, he is not a man. He is a priest," she said, lightly.

"And M. de Coigny--he is no longer a man, but a marshal," retorted madame.

This time the little Marquise made no reply. She suddenly turned serious, and a pause crept upon the four.

Mme. de Tencin, after waiting nearly a minute for some one to speak, herself exclaimed: "Come, let us play at piquet. It is the only thing left. Cavagnole is impossible. Mme. de Lauraguais, I leave you to the Maréchale. Victorine, you will be becoming a second Mirepoix soon. Marie, you shall play with me. Come--the tables are here."

La Châteauroux sighed. She intensely disliked cards. "Ah, well--I will play till I have lost ten louis. That--since I have already lost one--is all that I can afford. Then we will go home. François must wait till to-morrow."

"Poor man!"

Mme. de Tencin led the way to the gaming-room, which, to tell the truth, was a principal feature in her _hôtel_; and here the four ladies seated themselves at two tables. It took Mme. de Châteauroux a little more than an hour to lose her stipulated sum, for stakes among women are not high. That being done, true to her word, she rose.

"It is necessary to depart, dear Claudine. I am frightfully sleepy. You have given us the most delightful evening possible. Come, Elise, finish your hand. How much have you won? Come, we must really go."

"And I also," rejoined Victorine, rising from her place.

"There is wine in my boudoir. We will drink to you, Marie Anne, and your great success with the d'Agenois."

So they all rustled back to the little salon, adjusted their very light wraps, partook of the liqueur and cakes prepared, and then departed, each to her chair, with many affectionate adieus. Victorine, yawning mentally, went her way to her lonely abode in the Rue Fromentin, while the others returned to the Rue du Bac, where madame was greeted with news that made her furious with mortification. Fouchelet had returned from Versailles with the word from Mme. de Boufflers that Mme. de Châteauroux's wardrobe and dogs should be despatched to her on the following day. As to the furniture and toys in her apartments, and her private chef and footmen, they had belonged to Mme. de Châteauroux not as woman, but as favorite of his Majesty. They were really the insignia of office, and no longer belonged to one who had been publicly dismissed from her post.

The letter in which these things were said was perfectly cold, perfectly polite, and perfectly unreasonable. Its tone, however, was not to be mistaken. It was the first deep wound given to the deposed sub-queen, and its sensation was too fresh to be easily borne. At something after two o'clock in the morning she fell into an unquiet sleep, and then Mme. de Lauraguais, who had attended her, crept away to her own room, too tired to scold her maid.

On the following morning la Châteauroux had, apparently, recovered from her chagrin. She ate an egg with her chocolate, laughed at her sister's clouded face, sent Alexandre to a furniture house with orders to refurnish completely her present abode, advised her sister to make a round of the toy-shops that morning, and at eleven o'clock re-dressed herself preparatory to the forthcoming visit to her old-time lover.

François Emmanuel Frederic, Duc d'Agenois, returned from a long Italian exile to Paris and fever, had left his bed this morning for the second time, and, wrapped in silken dressing-gown and cap, with a _couvre-pied_ to correspond, reclined upon a small couch in his most comfortable salon, indulging in a profound fit of melancholy. His history certainly warranted an occasional turn of despair. Unfortunate enough to have fallen in love with her who was destined to become favorite of France; unwise enough to have kept his passion alight in defiance of the King of this, his adopted country; unforeseeing enough to have offered the woman marriage; by all these things winning a two-years' banishment; he had now been absurd enough, after the exile, to return again to the very den of the lion. More than this, having, even in illness, learned the story of the disgrace of the favorite and her return to Paris, he was now capping the climax of folly by daring to wish--that she would come to him. What benefit he could possibly derive from such a proceeding, the rash youth did not stop to consider. He only lay upon his couch, very weak in body and very flushed of countenance, hoping one moment, utterly despairing, as was sensible, the next. Really, according to Fate's usual laws, the idea of her coming was utterly absurd. And yet she came. About noon d'Agenois heard, with sharpened ears, the great front door open and close. Then there was silence again, while he nervously fingered the tassels of his gown and stared at the ceiling--more hopeless than ever. Presently his valet hurried in, with an anxious expression on his lively face. Passing to his master's side, he whispered a question in the Duke's ear.

"See her!" cried d'Agenois, leaping up. "_Nom de Dieu_, Jean, fly! Fly, I tell you! Admit her--admit her--admit her--"

Jean ran back across the room, pushed open the door, and stood aside. Mme. de Châteauroux, clothed in clouds of white muslin that floated about her in fold after fold, luminous, filmy, her golden hair unpowdered, curling upon her shoulders, her eyes lustrous, an expression of tender melancholy on her face, appeared on the threshold, framed in the bright sunshine that streamed through the windows.

"Anne!" The man gave a faint cry and began to move towards her, dizzily, both arms outstretched. He had loved her faithfully throughout the two years. Had he not a right to tremble now, at their reunion?

The Duchess smiled slowly into his eyes, and moved towards him in a fashion peculiar to herself, not walking, floating rather.

"Anne, you are not changed--you are not changed at all. You are just as I have thought of you. You are my angel. You came--you did not forget--I have been so ill, have suffered so. Ah, you are adorable!"

With nervous eagerness he drew her to the sofa beside him, and sat looking into her face, delightedly noting every feature, every shining hair tendril, counting the very breaths that passed her lips. Madame, who had known him so well in the old days, who thought of him always as one much younger than herself, ran her fingers through his dark hair, smoothed the forehead that was so hot, and insisted on his lying down again. This being accomplished, she seated herself near him, one of his hands fast holding hers, his eyes smiling up at her.

"You know my story--that I am nothing, now, François?" she asked.

"I know only that you are my angel, Anne. What more could I wish?"

Thus this first visit passed off to the highest satisfaction of madame. D'Agenois had always pleased her, was ever obedient to her way of thinking, was singularly unselfish and unsuspicious, and his blind devotion to her was perhaps the only reason why she did not care for him as she had seemed to care for Louis of France. The young Duke was, moreover, still far from well; and la Châteauroux was enough of a woman to have a taste for humoring a patient who threw himself, utterly regardless of consequences, upon her mercy. The first, then, became the beginning of an infinite series of visits, none of which was short. Madame had not been in Paris a week before she discovered that nothing but the boldest possible course was open to her now. The story of her dismissal from Metz, exaggerated in every way, was discussed from palace to fish-market. She was pointed out in the streets and accosted with insulting remarks. The _haute bourgeoisie_ itself sneered at her, and as for the _noblesse_, those who in the old days had schemed for weeks to obtain an invitation to her salon, could now have seen the moons of Saturn with the naked eye more easily than they would behold Mme. de Châteauroux in her chair. Mme. de Mailly-Nesle refused to admit either sister to her _hôtel_. Henri at intervals went to the Rue du Bac out of duty, not pleasure. Mme. de Tencin, while she frequently summoned both sisters to her side when she was alone, was always singularly unable to receive Madame la Duchesse during one of her evenings. Of all the former friends and sycophants, Victorine de Coigny was the single person who allowed herself to be seen in all places, at all hours, with the deposed favorite, without finding her popularity thereby lessened. But the little Maréchale was a peculiar case. It was her role to be unusual, unconventional; and this one thing added to her _risqué_ list could not harm her. Even had there been danger in it, Victorine would have clung to the other woman, for the sake of their old friendship. But Victorine had a rash nature.

Amid her little turmoil Marie Anne moved with apparent serenity. Certainly her world, what part of it was still in Paris, must at first have suspected the pangs of mortification that they daily caused her. But, so far as outward evidence was concerned, there was none. A woman who had had the wit and the unscrupulous fortitude to attain to the position once occupied by Marie Anne de Mailly-Nesle, possessed enough strength of character to accept the circumstances attendant on her fall with excellent philosophy. She was the talk of all Paris, of Versailles, and of Sceaux. Her attitude was unceasingly watched and commented on; and, after two weeks, a new idea began to dawn in the various salons. It was the startling one that madame had found a new string for her straightened bow. The idea originated when, one evening at the Hôtel du Tours, the discovery was made that five people, on five consecutive days, had seen the chair of Mme. de Châteauroux waiting in the Rue de l'Evêque at the door of the d'Agenois _hôtel_.

Three of these people, moreover, had seen her herself issue from the _hôtel_ door, had refused recognition to her, and gone their ways. The salon of M. Vauvenargues gasped. What a plan of action! How daring! How truly like the whilom favorite! Was she in love with him, after all? What were the arms of Châteauroux and d'Agenois? Were the quarterings harmonious? By the middle of September the wedding was discussed as a surety, and many a grande dame wondered if she might not throw hauteur to the winds and go. Who would not wish to study the bridal dress? And then--after--question of questions!--what would accrue when his Majesty returned? The salons gasped again, wondered, and waited.

Matters also waited for some time. There occurred one of those aggravatingly hopeless stand-stills when society purfled and shrugged and created tireless smoke at a rate which science could not easily measure. No wedding announcement was made; neither did his Majesty return to Paris. Fribourg had proved to be a city possessed of rather better resources of defence than the Court before its walls had of amusement. After two weeks of cannonading and unsuccessful sorties on the part of the besieged, the Court grew very bored indeed, and most of the ladies followed her Majesty back to France. If the Queen had wished to stay longer at Louis' side, she did not voice the wish, for her husband entertained a different notion. Among the few departing gentlemen was a certain M. Lenormand d'Etioles, a nonentity to history, who very joyfully accompanied his wife away from the occasional sight of his Majesty, to an estate at Meudon, where madame deigned to reside for one month.

The last siege of the campaign was at last triumphantly concluded on the 28th day of October, and three days later came the first rumor of the King's approaching return to Paris. France received the news with hysterical joy. It was odd, considering his ways, how universally adored throughout his youth this King was. To his people he was a warrior hero. And, indeed, his personality, since the first time that he had appeared in public, in a golden robe one yard long, with violet leading-strings about his little shoulders, had been beautiful enough to inspire worship. The portraits of his old age are hideous enough; but that of Vanloo, which the great painter declared he could not do justice to, is the one which should stand out above all others as the true picture of this King of lotus-eaters. Preparations were made to give his Majesty, and what of the army was with him, a magnificent reception. An evening procession was arranged, during which all Paris and her river were literally to roll in fire. The Faubourg St. Antoine turned out _en masse_ for the occasion, and, stranger still, not a noble in the city but contributed certain louis d'or for fireworks, and arranged windows and a party to view the procession.

Mme. de Châteauroux was addressed by no one on the subject of these preparations. The royal coach would pass neither the Rue du Bac nor the Rue de l'Evêque. Mme. de Mailly-Nesle did not dream of asking her sister-in-law to sit at her windows overlooking the Pont Royal, which Louis must cross on his way to the Tuileries. But even had the invitation been given, the Duchess would have refused it. It was not in her plan that the King should find her face among those of the throng; but eagerly she prayed that its absence might be felt.

"François, upon the 13th of November I shall stay all day here with you. Nay, better, you shall come to me, and I will serve you such a little supper as--"

"Anne! Who could touch food in thy presence?"

Madame smiled at him, and they ceased to speak. They could sit silent now for uncounted minutes, madame knowing every thought that flitted through the brain of the young man; d'Agenois fancying, perhaps, that he knew as much of the Duchess. If this were not so, what mattered it? He was supremely happy. He had lost all jealousy, even of royalty, for he willingly believed what she told him with every look: that she loved him, only, at last.

At the time of their short conversation relative to the home-coming of the King, they were in the Hôtel d'Agenois, returned half an hour before from a drive. The Duke lay upon a couch, idly watching his companion, who sat toying with a bit of _découpure_, her back to the windows, a soft light falling upon her hair and shoulders. It had been a quiet half-hour, and madame was beginning to be tired. She was contemplating a return to her own hôtel, when an interruption occurred. Some one was admitted below. Some one came hurriedly up-stairs, and Mme. de Lauraguais, unannounced, ran into the room.

"My dear Elise! Your breath is quite gone! Is there a fire--a scandal--a death?"

"None of them. Wait!" She sank into a chair to regain her breath, while François sounded a gong, intending to order wine.

"It is only Henri, who sends us an urgent note to come at once to his hôtel. I received it, and came for you. The coach is outside. He sent it."

Madame shrugged. "What startling thing can have happened?" she said, smiling. "Perhaps Laure is dying, and wishes for me. However, I come."

And, after a gentle farewell for the day to d'Agenois, madame went. The Mailly-Nesle coach bore the two ladies at a rapid pace across the Rue St. Honoré, out upon the quay and on to the Pont Royal, on the opposite side of which, just across from the Théatins, was the Hôtel de Mailly. During the drive the sisters scarcely spoke. Mme. de Châteauroux certainly did not seem curious as to the reason for Henri's imperative summons. To tell the truth, she was not thinking of it. She was finishing a dream.

Henri himself met them at his door, smiled at Marie Anne's languid greeting, refused to reply to the eager question of Elise, but conducted them rapidly up-stairs into the grand salon. Here stood the Marquise, Henri's wife, with two people, a man and a woman. As she caught sight of the man's face, Mme. de Châteauroux gave a little cry, and turned suddenly colorless.

"Claude!" she said.

Claude came forward, raising her hand to his lips, and saluting Mme. de Lauraguais, who was staring at him as at one raised from the dead.

Then de Mailly went back, and took the woman by the hand. A slight, straight, girlish figure she had, a fair complexion, and a pair of large grayish eyes, that were presently lifted to the face of la Châteauroux.

"Anne," said Claude, quietly, "let me make known to you my wife."

"Your wife!"

Deborah, with rather a pathetic little smile, courtesied low.