CHAPTER V

Two Presentations

Upon the 18th of November their Majesties, the dauphin, the royal suites, and, in a word, the French Court, returned to Versailles and took up its abode in palace or town for the winter. The little city was alive with nobility and nobility's servants. Every fourth person one met bore with him, as a mantle of dignity, some fifteen generations of ancestry; and every third man with whom one came in contact was one whose forebears, for fifteen misty and not wholly glorious generations, had been accustomed to the honor of adjusting nobility's wig and helping him on with his coat.

The great park of Versailles, with its leafless bosquets, its bare avenues, its deadened terraces, its lifeless fountains, was forlorn enough. But within the monster palace hard by everything hummed with preparation for the gayest of winters. Here was a hero-King returned from the scene of his heroisms, bored with doughty deeds, waiting to be entertained with matters strained to less heroic pitch. There on the second floor, behind the court of the grand staircase, with a little private stair of its own, empty and desolate behind its locked doors, lay the deserted suite of the favorite's rooms. And who shall say how many a great lady, honorable to her finger-tips, with some honor to spare, cast a mute, curious glance at that closed door, in passing, and went her way with a new question in her heart? Who shall tell the germs of intrigue, struggling jealousy, rivalry, hatred, ambition, and care that were fostered in this abode of kings during that third week in November, when the "season" was budding, and would, on Sunday night, at the Queen's first salon, open into a perfect flower?

During that week, ever since Richelieu's visit on Monday, one would scarcely have thought that Deborah de Mailly had had time for thinking. There was never an hour when she could be alone. Claude's words were proven true. She had known nothing of what this life would mean; and she possessed not one leisure moment which she could have given to the care of their abiding-place. Slightly to her husband's surprise, certainly much to her own amazement, she had become a little sensation; and almost every member of the Court followed the speedy example of Mme. de Mirepoix and called upon her during that first week. The tale of the King's salute, of her forthcoming presentation, and, more than all, a story whispered behind Richelieu's hand of a possible favoritism, had wrought this result.

Deborah bore herself very well at the innumerable afternoon visits. Claude was always with her; but, after the first two days, she ceased to watch his eye, and found herself able to pay some little attention to the characteristics of the different people. She had small fancy for the Maréchale de Coigny, and an equally accountable dislike for de Bernis, who, for some reason of his own, paid her assiduous attention.

Each morning Deborah went to Paris, to her milliner's, where the presentation dress was being made. Claude almost always accompanied her on these trips, and during the long drives there should have been more than enough opportunity for them to discuss her first impressions of the new life. Though Claude could not tell why, such conversations never occurred. He felt, vaguely, that his wife was holding aloof from him. She was perfectly courteous, sometimes merry, in his company; but she was never confiding as she had been. At home there was no longer any necessity for them to linger in an antechamber before retiring, for the sake of being alone together. After eleven at night they had their apartment to themselves. But, oddly enough, they now never saw each other alone. Deborah was occupied, was too tired, was not in the mood--any of a thousand things. Claude wondered, and was disappointed, but never pressed the point. Not once did it occur to him to connect her present impenetrability with the singular crying-spell on Monday evening, after her afternoon alone with Victorine de Coigny. He put her new manner down rather to the growing influence of the Court customs. And perhaps, to some extent, he was right.

Just now Claude's attention, like that of the rest of the Court, was concentrated upon the approaching Sunday evening. He was ambitious for Deborah. He wanted to make her success as great as possible. The danger of success he knew, perhaps, but the other alternative was worse; and, besides, not a hint of Richelieu's careful gossip had reached his ears. As to the royal salute which had, at the time, so annoyed him, he had now all but forgotten it in the renewal of his old connections, his old associations with every foot of this ground that was home to him. He had played a good deal during the week, to such purpose that there was now small cause to fear the necessary expenditures for the winter; and out of his first day's winnings at Berkley's he could pay for Deborah's entire wardrobe. Claude took more interest than his wife herself, perhaps, in the presentation dress, which had been especially designed to emphasize her freshness, her youth, and her slender figure. She was to wear very small hoops, which articles of dress were now in their largest possible state, preparatory to a long-needed collapse to the graceful puffs of the Pompadour era. Her petticoat was of white India crépe, embroidered in white. Her over-dress was of lace, made _en princesse_, with the train falling from the shoulders and flowing behind her for more than a yard, like a trail of foam in the wake of a ship.

The busy week ended almost too soon, and Sunday dawned--about an hour before his Majesty rose. During the morning Versailles was deserted. Not a lady had risen, and the gentlemen went shooting, after mass, with his Majesty. Deborah, greatly to her displeasure, had been commanded to stay in bed till three in the afternoon, at which hour she might begin her toilet. Claude was with the hunting-party, however, and his wife rose at ten o'clock and had her chocolate in the dining-room, to the bland amazement of the first lackey. A little later, however, Madame la Comtesse regretted her wilfulness, for she had nothing to do. Despite Mme. de Conti's reassuring instructions, she was extremely nervous as to the evening. She had already practised the presentation at home, with Julie for her Majesty, chairs for the ladies of honor, and the King rather inadequately represented by her dressing-table. This morning, however, Deborah was not in the mood for the tiresome manoeuvres, but instead sat disconsolately at the window, rigorously keeping her thoughts from home, and trying to fasten them, for want of a better subject, on the lady who was also to be presented that evening by Mme. de Conti. This, as history would have it, was a person of somewhat humbler birth than Deborah herself, styled in the beginning Jeanne Poisson, later wedded to solid Lenormand d'Etioles, and at some day now neither dim nor distant to become that Marquise de Pompadour whom an Empress of Austria should salute as an equal. Deborah mused for some time on this unknown lady, ate her solitary dinner without appetite, and lay on her salon sofa for two hours more, thinking unhappily of Maryland, before Julie roused her to begin the momentous toilet.

Evening drew on apace. Claude, returning at something past five from his royal day, found the hair-dresser at his task, and so proceeded to dress before he visited his wife. Supper was served to monsieur and madame in their rooms. Claude ate heartily and gossiped with his valet while his wig was being adjusted, his face powdered, and his suit, the most costly that he had ever worn, together with his diamonds, put on. When all was to his taste, he despatched Rochard to inquire, with much ceremony, if madame would receive her lord. Madame would. And so Claude, with a smile of anticipation, drew from a little cabinet a large, flat, purple morocco box, and, with this in his hand, crossed the passage and tapped gently at the door of Deborah's boudoir.

Julie opened it. Within, facing him, her back to the toilet-table, stood his wife. The room was not very light. Only four candles burned in it, and the disorder of the little place was but dimly exposed. Deborah was quite dressed. Her figure looked taller than usual, from the smallness of her hoops; and, in her delicate, misty robes, with the uncertain light she appeared like some shadowy spirit. Claude stopped upon the threshold and looked at her in silence. She did not speak. And Julie, who had rightly thought her mistress the most beautiful woman in France, stood back in quick chagrin that Monsieur le Comte did not go into ecstasies of delight over madame.

"More light, Julie. She is very well so, but there will be a trying glare in the Queen's salon," was his first remark.

Deborah herself felt disappointed, and turned aside as her maid hastily lit the various waxen tapers in the brackets on the walls. When the little place was as bright as it could be made, Claude went to his wife, placed a hand upon her shoulder, and drew her gently about till she once more faced him. Then he stood off a little, critically examining her, and carefully refraining from any expression of his pleasure. Finally, when he had decided that art could do no more, he merely said, with a little smile, "You wear no jewels, Debby."

She was silent with displeasure, knowing him to be well aware that she possessed none. He passed behind her, however, picked up the box that he had brought in with him, and put it into her hands.

"It is my presentation gift," he said, a little wistfully.

"Claude!" she whispered, without lifting the cover.

"Open it--open and put it on. It is growing late."

Quite breathless now, she opened the box, and gave a low exclamation. Julie shrieked with rapture, and Claude, reading his wife's expression, was satisfied with the reception of his gift.

"Oh, they are much--much more beautiful than Virginia's!" murmured Deborah, as, half afraid to touch them, she lifted the jewels from the box. They consisted of three rows of white pearls, clasped with a larger one, the first string passing just comfortably about her throat, the second somewhat longer, and the third touching the lace edge of her dress. The ornament was simple enough, but the stones needed no pendants to set them off. In size, evenness, and purity they were incomparable. Deborah's heart was touched. He was very kind to her--as kind as any real lover could be. Why must she always remember that she was a secondary object to him? Why could she never forget that he had only brought her here that his exile might be ended?

"Well then--you are pleased?" he asked, still wistfully.

"Oh yes! You are too good to me, Claude."

"A kiss, then?"

As she kissed him gently upon the forehead he seized one of her hands, clasped it tightly for an instant, and then, putting it quickly away from him, let her go. Julie approached with her wraps, and the lackey announced that the coach was waiting.

The apartments of the Queen in the palace of Versailles were on the south side of the _rez-de-chaussée_, in the body of the palace, looking out along the south wing. They consisted of five rooms, the Salon de la Reine, where so many royal functions were held, being between her Majesty's bedroom and the Salle du Grand Couvert; while a third door on the north side opened into the antechamber which led out to the Court of the Staircase. This last small room was, to her Majesty's circle, what the Œil-de-Bœuf was to the general court.

The reception planned for this evening of Sunday, November 21st, was to be rather more ceremonious than such affairs became later in the season. There would be six presentations--a large number; and, to the Queen's delight, not only her usual small circle of friends, but the entire Court, had assembled here for the first time in more than a year. Judging from her smiling appearance, it was not probable that the Queen guessed that the reason why her rooms were so frequented was that certain tongues had set afloat the rumor that a new candidate for the favorite's post was to be presented to-night to Queen and Court, to be judged by them as eligible or not.

At one side of her salon, upon a raised dais, beneath a golden canopy, sat Marie Leczinska, royally dressed, looking only like the gentle Polish woman that she was, talking in low tones with Mme. de Boufflers, who would have liked very well to escape for a few moments into the throng. In two semicircular lines, from the throne to the door of the anteroom, leaving between them an open space, stood the _dames d'étiquette_, or, more properly, the ladies of the palace of the Queen, among whom, magnificently dressed, with the proceeds of her forthcoming task, was the Princess de Conti. Behind these formidable rows the rest of the Court stood, packed in such close masses that many a hooped toilet was threatened with collapse. About the throne were gathered the Queen's immediate friends, the "Saints," as they were termed by members of the King's set; Mme. de Boufflers, from necessity; the Duc and Duchesse de Luynes; M. and Mme. de la Vauguyon; the Duc and Duchesse de Luxembourg; the Cardinal de Tencin; the Cardinal de Luynes; Mme. d'Alincourt; the inevitable Père Griffet; and President Hénault. One person, however, who was becoming a very familiar figure to the Queen's household, was not with them to-night. This was the Abbé François de Bernis, whose connection with Mme. de Coigny had never been discussed in that part of the palace.

M. de Bernis was not, however, absent from Court on this interesting occasion. At the present moment he was in the antechamber, conversing in his peculiarly charming manner with a lady to whom he had just been presented by Richelieu, and who was to be presented to the Queen by Mme. de Conti--Mme. Lenormand d'Etioles. An extremely pretty woman she was, thought the abbé; and well dressed also, in her white satin, with stately hoops, and her neck covered with the sapphires that matched her eyes. While chatting with de Bernis she eyed Richelieu or made close scrutinies of the half-dozen other ladies in the room, with one of whom her stout husband was talking nervously.

"Are all the women here, Monsieur l'Abbé?" she asked, presently.

De Bernis glanced about him. "I have not yet seen Mme. de Mailly. She is late."

"Ah, Mme. de Mailly--the new Countess, is she not? I am curious to see her. She is a cousin of Mme. de Châteauroux."

"Her husband is the cousin. His wife--" de Bernis shrugged--"ended his exile for him, and so brought him back to his famous Marie Anne. However, they say that he never sees her now, so furious is the jealousy of his fair colonial. You know it has been whispered, madame, that his Majesty is less insensible than the young de Mailly."

"Ah! She is not lost yet, then?" inquired Mme. d'Etioles, hastily.

"Not yet. But--when you have been presented, madame--" and de Bernis finished the tactful sentence with a look which completed it admirably.

Mme. d'Etioles smiled with affected indifference; and her next remark was interrupted by the entrance of some one whose arrival at the anteroom created a small sensation. Deborah, with Claude beside her, carrying her cloak, and Henri de Mailly a step behind, with her fan and scarf, floated delicately in, her laces trailing noiselessly about her, apparently unconscious of her beauty, or of the fact that every eye in the little place was upon her. Richelieu, abruptly leaving de Mouhy, hurried to her side, inwardly delighted with her appearance. To Claude's surprise, and perhaps a little to Deborah's also, he paid her no compliment whatever, but merely began a flying conversation on the people, the evening, and the season's promise of gayety.

"So that is the Countess de Mailly," observed Mme. d'Etioles, after a long scrutiny. "How very--a--colonial she appears, and how inelegant she is with those small hoops! Her manner is bourgeois, one can perceive at once. Present her to me, Monsieur l'Abbé."

De Bernis, with an inward smile and very willing obedience, crossed over to Mme. de Mailly, and, after his salutation and some murmured phrases that made Deborah flush, informed her of the request of Mme. d'Etioles. Deborah assented readily, for she hailed with no little relief the prospect of talking to a woman. She was not fond of the conspicuousness that Court ladies struggled for, and which resulted from being surrounded with men. A Maryland training was not that of Versailles.

In the end it was Richelieu who performed the introduction between the women. After their courtesies, Mme. d'Etioles addressed Deborah very cordially, and with so many pretty words about her toilet that de Bernis nodded to himself at her display of one of the traits which promised a Court success. While the little group stood talking in one corner of the anteroom the first lady was summoned for presentation. No one but the abbé took any notice of the exit. He, however, whispered to Richelieu:

"They say that the King will not be present this evening. Is it so?"

The Duke took snuff, slowly. "My dear abbé, if I could read his Majesty's mind I should be first minister in a week."

De Bernis smiled, but looked unsatisfied as he turned again to the ladies. Presently, however, Richelieu continued in his ear: "The King had supper with Monseigneur, who made certain dutiful remarks regarding his _fiancée_, the Infanta Marie. These, since they might be construed into casting a slur on his Majesty's devotion to the Queen, threw Louis into a--well, a temper. One cannot tell whether he will recover or not. I, like the rest of the Court, shall infinitely regret it if he does not receive these charming women."

"Ah, my lord, has it ever occurred to you--beneath the rose--that Mme. de Mailly almost, in beauty and charm, approaches her--cousin, the Duchesse de Châteauroux?"

A quick frown passed over Richelieu's face, and he glanced sharply about him. Seeing no one who could have overheard the remark, however, he nodded shortly, saying in a tone that finished the matter: "Approaches--perhaps. That, Monsieur l'Abbé, many women might do."

By this time, in the salon, the first four presentations were over. They had been utterly uninteresting, the costumes commonplace, the courtesies only passably executed, and, worse than all, the King had not appeared. It was already long after ten o'clock, and there was small chance now of his entering on the scene. The Court yawned, not even behind its hand, and the very "saints" began to long for some better amusement. Rumor of interest to be found in such functions was certainly false.

After the fourth presentation came a pause.

"Are they finished?" inquired the Queen, hopefully, of the first lady.

"Mme. de Conti announces still two more, your Majesty."

"Two! That is not quite customary. However, bid her hasten them. This is very fatiguing."

A moment later the Princess de Conti passed into the antechamber, the pages at her side. Two or three moments after came the clear announcement from the chamberlain, at the door:

"Mme. de Conti has the honor to present to her Majesty the Comtesse de Nesle de Mailly."

At that moment a small, tapestried door cut in the wall beside the throne, and designed for unceremonious escape or arrival of royalty, was pushed quietly open, and Louis appeared. He was not instantly perceived, for every eye in the room was just then fixed on Deborah, who, with Mme. de Conti at her side and a royal page bearing her train, entered and passed slowly up the salon towards the Queen. Half-way up the aisle, at a slight sign from her conductress, she made the first reverence. They were not simple to perform, these presentation courtesies. One was obliged to stop short in the walk, and, without any perceptible break in movement, sink slowly to the floor, rise again, and proceed. Many had been the nervous débutante who overbalanced in going down, and had to be rescued from disgrace by the skill of her lady of honor. The barest murmur--approval from the gentlemen and assent from the ladies--floated through the room as Deborah went gracefully down a second time. And the murmur continued, changed into one of surprise, when, Marie Leczinska being perceived to have risen, the King was discovered beside the throne, his whole attention concentrated on Mme. de Mailly in her laces. Deborah herself was extremely nervous. She alone, of all the roomful, had witnessed the entrance of the King. And now, as she finished the progress, her eyes, unconscious of what they were doing, remained fixed on Louis' face. The King was delighted. He answered the gaze with a slight smile, and beheld the young woman's eyes quickly fall, while the color rushed into her cheeks. The Queen, owing to the presence of her husband, stood, while Deborah made the last of the three grand courtesies. Her Majesty was greatly pleased with the youthful innocence of Mme. de Mailly's face and the odd simplicity of her costly dress. Therefore, when Deborah made the motion of kissing the hem of her garment, she extended her hand instead, and afterwards murmured, graciously:

"It is with delight, madame, that we receive you in our salon."

And as Claude's wife repeated the formula of her gratitude and devotion, his Majesty gayly advanced, and, with a "Permit me, Madame la Comtesse," kissed her, as was his custom, upon the left cheek.

Deborah had not been informed of this possible part of the ceremony, and would have backed away in horror had not Mme. de Conti vigorously pinched her arm. A moment later they began the retreat. This time all the ladies of the palace must be included in the semi-courtesies which occurred with every four or five backward steps. It was a difficult performance for all three of the party, the presented, the presenter, and the train-bearer. Moreover, it was generally done under a running fire of whispered comments, some of which generally reached the ears of the débutante. Only one speech, however, was audible to Deborah as she passed; and over this she pondered, at intervals, for some days after, so that, when its full meaning was apparent to her, the shock of it was lessened.

"Positively, my dear," observed Mme. Crequy to Mme. de Grammont, "I begin to believe that the post is hereditary in this family."

It was with a sigh of perfect relief that Deborah saw the portière of the antechamber fall before her, blotting out the view of the salon, and, as she turned to Claude, Mme. de Conti said to her, graciously:

"Madame, permit me to make you my compliments on a most successful début. It is a pleasure to have been your conductress."

Mme. d'Etioles, hearing this from the corner wherein she still talked with de Bernis, at once advanced to her: "Mme. de Mailly, you put me in a difficult position. How am I to equal your success?"

Deborah looked a little nonplussed, for the insincerity of the remark was perfectly apparent to her. Claude, however, said at once, "Mme. d'Etioles, you have but to enter the room, when any one who appeared before you will be utterly forgotten."

Mme. Lenormand was satisfied, and responded to her summons without any apparent embarrassment. She was so complete a contrast to Mme. de Mailly that the two were not compared. Her manner, her bearing, her dress, all were perfectly conventional, all were of Court make, and of such extreme elegance that they defied criticism. There was neither affectation nor particular modesty in her air as she made her three graceful courtesies, was addressed by the Queen, and saluted by the King. Neither were there many comments while she performed the retreat. She was more or less a familiar figure to the Court, where, though the fact of her low birth hampered her at every turn, she was secretly a good deal admired by many. On her return to the antechamber her husband received her, she exchanged a few cool words with him, a jest with de Bernis, and then, leaning upon the arm of the latter, returned to the salon, which was now a lively and informal scene.

The presentation of Mme. d'Etioles having been the last of the evening, her Majesty descended from the dais, the lines of the ladies of the palace were broken, and the promenade began. Richelieu, taking a flattering leave of Claude and Deborah, made his way as rapidly as possible to his Majesty, who, by a coincidence, was hurrying towards him.

"Ah, du Plessis, I find that I did well to come. Where is d'Argenson?"

"Just behind us, Sire. He is talking with the Count de Mailly."

"Come with me, then. I must speak to them both, but separately. You understand? You will occupy one, while--"

"I understand, Sire."

Claude and young Marc Antoine ceased their conversation as the King approached. After saluting both gentlemen, his Majesty turned to Claude. "Monsieur," he said, heartily, "we welcome your return with the greatest satisfaction. You read our letter well. Oh, we have not forgotten, you see. And we--compliment you, monsieur, upon having won the most charming of ladies. She is English, Monsieur le Comte?"

"From the colonies, Sire."

"A pity they are so far away. One would like to visit them."

Claude forced a smile, while Louis turned next to d'Argenson. Upon this Richelieu at once crossed to the Count and opened conversation with him so adroitly that the King's next remarks were happily inaudible.

"And, by-the-way, my dear Voyer--put Mme. de Mailly, the new Countess, on the supper-list for Choisy."

D'Argenson bowed profoundly, to conceal his expression. "And--Mme. d'Etioles, Sire?" he ventured.

Louis hesitated. "Not--not as yet," he said, finally.