CHAPTER VII

Concerning Monsieur Maurepas

Notwithstanding de Richelieu's confidence in the rising of the new de Mailly star in the Versailles heavens, and François de Bernis' more reserved and more diffuse plans, it appeared, after all, that de Gêvres' stubborn loyalty to the old favorite was not misplaced. To the vast chagrin of most of the court, and the strong anxiety of a small portion of it, his Majesty, attended by his private suite and Jean Frédéric Phélippeaux de Maurepas, went from Versailles back to the Tuileries on the afternoon of November 23d.

M. de Maurepas had the honor of driving alone with the King. The roads were bad, and the royal coach grievously heavy, so that the poor minister came to be in difficulties for entertaining conversation towards the last stages of the three-hour journey. Louis listened good-naturedly to his various remarks, but at length took occasion to switch the topic round to that one of all others which Maurepas had been trying to avoid.

"'Tis said, Phélippeaux," observed the King, blinking, "that our dear friend the Duchesse de Châteauroux, and you, our other dear friend, are not amicably disposed towards one another. How is this?"

"Sire, believe me--the--little difficulty began through no fault of mine, if through the fault of any one."

"Relate it to me."

Maurepas coughed. The situation was undeniably disagreeable, but an effort must be made. The less hesitation, at all events, the better. "Your Majesty, it had to do with a house, the Hôtel Maurepas, which three years ago was the Hôtel Mazarin, but fell to me at Mme. de Mazarin's death, thus obliging Mme. de la Tournelle to leave it on the demise of her grandmother. We are connected, you know, Sire."

For a moment or two the King remained silent, and his companion sat dreading an outbreak of displeasure. Presently, however, Louis remarked, without much expression: "Since her leaving the Hôtel de Mazarin was the occasion of her appearance at Versailles, one might imagine that madame would strive to modify her anger. Is that all the reason, monsieur?"

"Latterly, Sire, it has been intimated to me that madame thought me her opponent--a--politically. Need I assure your Majesty that my only political interest is yours, and that in so far as Mme. de Châteauroux has been essential to your good pleasure, in so far she has been esteemed by me. Unfortunately, however, it is whispered that madame believes me the instrument of her departure from Metz. This, indeed, is utterly false, I as--"

Louis, who was looking slightly amused, raised his hand: "Enough, Phélippeaux. I am aware of some things. We shall try, during the forthcoming week, to give you the opportunity of proving to madame your entire innocence in that regrettable affair. I wish you to become reconciled to madame, Phélippeaux, for, to be plain, I can do without neither of you."

Maurepas acknowledged this high compliment with some little pleasure; but, as the horses hurried forward, and silence fell between the two, the Marquis found himself at liberty to think some by no means agreeable thoughts. It was quite true that, even in former times, when there was no open rupture between them, love had never been lost between the King's minister and the favorite. Maurepas found his Court path very much smoother when the Duchess was not moving just ahead of him, and, despite his loyalty to the King's wishes, he had small desire that the King's well-beloved should return to Versailles. For that reason this present journey to the Tuileries, its object now becoming perfectly plain, began to assume a decidedly unpleasant appearance. Maurepas was well able to cope with the favorite in his own way; but his way was not that of the King. How, then, was he to gain his point, satisfy himself, and, at the same time, please that difficult pair, Marie Anne de Mailly and Louis de Bourbon, equally well, as he needs must?

During this soliloquy the royal coach passed the barrier and entered the dark streets of the city. After twenty minutes of silent and rapid driving, Louis touched his minister's arm.

"Look, Phélippeaux, there is the very house towards which, to-morrow, I take my way."

Whether by accident or by order, they were passing through the little Rue du Bac on their way from the bridge to the palace. Maurepas obediently leaned out of the window and gazed up at the narrow house now inhabited by the most celebrated woman in France. The lower story of the building was dark. The upper one was lighted brilliantly, in front.

"Possibly she is ill," muttered Maurepas, under his breath.

And Maurepas' surmise was right. La Châteauroux was ill. A long and fruitless course of d'Agenois, of repining for her lost position, of battling for herself, single-handed, against the drawn ranks of the _dames d'étiquette_, with but a momentary glimpse of the King on his way to mass after his return, with the news of the beginning of the winter fêtes, and, finally, more than all, the possibility that she had been effaced from Louis' memory by the appearance of a rival--these things had preyed upon her woman's nature till they threw her into a nervous fever which medicine but increased, and for which there was but one remedy. Sad weeks, indeed, these were. Her brave defiance was broken. Day after day, through the long gray hours, she would lie in her bedroom, silent, impatient, answering sharply if spoken to, otherwise mute, uncomplaining, and melancholy. Young d'Agenois was with her constantly, and now importuned marriage till at times she was near consent. What frayed strand of hope still held her back it were difficult to surmise. How had it been with her had she accepted this young man's eagerly proffered self? Had the tragedy of Versailles been doubled or avoided? Had de Bernis or Richelieu won his wager? Useless to guess. At eleven o'clock on this night of the 23d of November young d'Agenois left his lady's fauteuil, and the light in the top story of the Rue du Bac went out for a little time.

At twelve o'clock on the following day, while madame was meditating another struggle with the clothes that so tortured her fevered body, Fouchelet, down-stairs, was called to the door. At the entrance stood a muffled man, bearing in his hand a note--for the Duchesse de Châteauroux. Fouchelet was well trained. He gave no sign, but his heart grew big, for his own position's sake, when he recognized the sharp features of Bachelier, the King's confidential valet.

"There is no answer?" queried madame's man, peering out.

"Yes," was the reply. And so Bachelier waited in the lower hall.

In ten minutes the lackey returned. Bachelier rose. "Well?" he asked.

"At nine o'clock this evening," was the message. And with it, and a nod of satisfaction, the royal servant left the house.

He left much behind him that may be easily enough imagined. Enough to say that the designated evening hour found the once gloomy little _hôtel_ in a most unwonted condition. The whole lower floor was lighted softly, with not too many candles, for Mme. de Châteauroux's face bore the ravages of anxiety and illness. The salon, in perfect order, was empty. Not so the little dining-room, a charming place, with elaborate decorations of palest mauve and gold, a crystal chandelier, and a tiny round table in its centre, heaped with a profusion of flowers, and the most delicate collation that Mme. de Flavacourt and the chef together could devise. No wines had been brought up, for they were kept cooler below. But here, upon her _chaise-longue_, no rouge upon her flaming cheeks to-night, hair elaborately coiffed for the first time in many days, swathed all in laces, covered with a piece of pale, embroidered satin, arms and hands transparent in the light, her whole form more delicate than ever before, reclined Marie Anne de Mailly--waiting.

Minutes passed and the hour drew near. Madame moved nervously, her hands wandering over the shadowy garments. The whole hidden household breathed uneasiness, anticipation. Clocks chimed nine. The hour was past. He was late--no! Mme. de Châteauroux sat up. There had been the faintest knock at the door. Fouchelet hurried through the hall. For an instant the Duchess tightly clenched her hands. Then her face changed utterly in expression. All anxiety and eagerness slipped away from it. It had become calm, cool, indifferent, showing strong marks of physical suffering. The eyes burned with determination, but her mouth wore a peculiar, disdainful smile that few women, in her place, would have dared to use.

Now a black-cloaked figure hurried through the salon, stopping on the threshold of the room where madame lay. Here the protecting hat and coat were rapidly thrown aside, and the new-comer hastened to madame.

"Anne!" cried the King, gazing down at her in delight.

The cheeks of la Châteauroux grew a little redder, her eyes a little more brilliant. "Your Majesty will pardon me that I do not rise?" she said.

"Bachelier told me of your illness. I am sincerely sorry," he returned, examining her closely.

"Will your Majesty be pleased to sit?"

"'_Majesty_,' Anne? '_Majesty?_' What nonsense is this? Have you become a waiting-maid? It is 'Louis' when we are together, you and I."

Madame drew away a little. "You wish that?" she asked, looking at him keenly.

"'Tis what I have come for. Ah, madame--Versailles is empty now! I have been bored--they have bored me to death." He turned away with one of those abrupt transitions from tenderness to fretfulness which were so characteristic of him as a king. He yawned as he drew a small chair up to his Duchess, and seated himself heavily thereon. "I wish you to return to Versailles," he said, with an air of putting an end to the matter.

Mme. de Châteauroux glanced at him and slightly shrugged her shoulders. "That will not be so easily arranged."

"What! You do not wish to return?"

"Why should I? Life there was not at all easy. Many changes would be necessary before I should consent to live again inside its walls."

"What changes? Do you want larger rooms? More servants? A cabriolet added to the berline? Your cook was always very good."

"Ta! Ta! Ta! Rooms!--coaches! It is _people_ I mean, Sire."

"Oh!" Louis' face grew more grave. Madame lay perfectly still, watching him. He was obliged, after a moment or two of painful silence, to ask, sulkily, "What people do you want--dismissed?"

"Your Majesty might easily surmise that."

"I? How am I to surmise your rancors, Anne?"

"My dismissal from Metz--"

"It was against my wishes, I swear to you!" he put in, hastily.

"Then your--repentance for scandal," she murmured, quickly, smiling beneath her lids. As the King flushed she was wise enough to waive the point. "I am aware that you were so--generous as to wish me to remain there," she observed. "But the man who _did_ cause my departure, my dis--"

"Was Chartres, madame. I am unable to dismiss a prince of the blood from Versailles even for you."

"I did not refer to Monseigneur. It is Maurepas that I want sent off."

"Maurepas! Mordi! Do you fancy he had anything to do with it?"

"He had all to do with it. He hates me, that man. I vow that until he has left Versailles I will not show my face there at any cost."

Louis grew red with irritation. "You are absolutely wrong, Anne. De Maurepas had no more to do with your going than I. I swear it!"

"Then who was the man that instigated Monseigneur to force his way into your apartment?"

The King hesitated. Richelieu was a great favorite with him. Were it possible he would have kept the truth of the matter from madame. If it were not possible--he sighed, mentally--Richelieu must go. He could, at all events, be spared better than Maurepas, who had the invaluable ability of steering the water-logged ship of state very skilfully between the oft-threatening Scylla of debt and Charybdis of over-taxation.

Presently Louis rose and moved over to the table. Here, after looking absently about, he picked up an egg filled with cream (a new and delicate invention). Taking up a knife, he struck off the egg's head. This was a favorite trick of his, and one which he performed with unerring daintiness. "Look, Anne. Had it been Maurepas who forced our _consigne_, this is what we should have done to him." He smilingly held up the end of the shell for her to see, and then, putting it down, began to eat the cream.

"I had not heard that any one had been beheaded of late. I thought it was out of fashion," observed madame, with apparent interest.

"True enough. I'll send Maurepas to tell you about everything. But, look you, if I have that person--exiled, if I present you with a list of courtiers for you to do as you wish with, if I reinstate you mistress of Versailles, will you in turn grant me two requests?"

"Let me hear them."

"You must see no more of d'Agenois--the creature whom I once exiled. And Phélippeaux and you must be reconciled. I will not have quarrels in my household. Will you agree to these things?"

He looked at her sharply, and she returned the glance with one that he could not read. "The first--d'Agenois--pouf! You may have him. He wearies me inexpressibly," she said, after a pause. "But Maurepas-- Besides, I have not yet signified a wish to return to Versailles. A month ago I wrote to Richelieu that I never should."

"Really! To Richelieu! And what was his reply?"

"Nothing. He did not reply."

"A pity. Well then--you refuse to come back?"

"No. That is, I would not refuse, but that--I am not fond of M. de Maurepas."

She had carried her stubborn insolence too far at last. The King frowned, threw away his egg, and marched steadily over to where he had thrown his hat and cloak. "It is as well. I gave you your choice, madame. Maurepas is no Comtesse de Mailly. Neither you nor any woman can drive him from my court."

At the tone of Louis' voice madame's heart had suddenly ceased to beat. She saw her mistake. Was it too late? No. On the threshold of the doorway the King, after a hesitation and struggle with himself, turned. She seized her final opportunity without a pause. Holding out her arms with exaggerated feebleness, she said, slowly:

"Send Phélippeaux to me to-morrow. He shall plead his cause."

And thus her danger must have ended, and Louis' point have been satisfactorily gained; for it was past midnight when France left the Rue du Bac, to proceed by chair to the Tuileries. "Maurepas will be with you at noon; and may the god of friendship preside at the meeting!" were his parting words to the Duchess, who nodded and smiled her approval. Then, while Fouchelet and the second valet cleared the remains of the feast from the little, disordered table, the mistress of Versailles, pale, burning with fever, and exhausted with fatigue, every nerve quivering with excitement at the life reopening to her, dragged herself to her bedroom, where Mme. de Lauraguais and the round-eyed maid awaited her arrival.

On Thursday morning, which was the 25th of November, the King broke fast with Maurepas at his usual hour. Louis was sleepy, and slightly, very slightly, inclined to be sharp of temper. When he informed his companion of the impending visit for that day's noon, Maurepas made no objection in words or manner. Nevertheless, he was intensely displeased. He knew very well his master's ways, and he realized that the tone in which he was bidden to come to a full and cordial understanding with her Grace was not to be disregarded. Therefore, at five minutes to twelve, with official punctuality, M. Jean Frédéric Phélippeaux, Marquis de Maurepas, carefully but not elaborately garbed, arrived in his chair at the _hôtel_ in the Rue du Bac. He was admitted there without delay, and Fouchelet's answer to the suave inquiry for Mme. de Châteauroux was:

"Will Monsieur le Marquis do madame the honor to ascend to madame's bedroom?"

The Marquis, very much put out, did madame that honor.

Mme. de Châteauroux was dressed and lying back in a deep arm-chair. To accentuate her pallor and the fever-flush, she wore a _négligé_ of red, and over her knees was thrown a velvet robe of the same color. In his first glimpse of her the minister noted all of this, and distinguished the affectation from the reality. He perceived his disadvantage, and began at once to calculate how far he might try her strength without inducing tears, before which he was as helpless as any man.

"Monsieur, I am charmed to behold you again."

"And I, madame, am desolated to find you not perfectly well."

There was a little pause. The Marquis anticipated being asked to sit down. Madame seemed to forget this courtesy. So, to his chagrin, Maurepas continued to stand, concealing his awkwardness and his ill-humor as best he might. At least the Duchess took no notice of his discomfort.

"Madame, his Majesty commanded my appearance before you. Doubtless there was a reason, of which, however, I am entirely ignorant. There was a hint on the King's part of a reconciliation necessary between us. I did not understand the use of the word. Have we, then, need for reconciliation?"

He spoke with a smile which annoyed madame, not for the first time. "Monsieur, last evening his Majesty was here to request my return to Versailles, and the resumption of my duties as lady of the palace of the Queen. This, on certain conditions, I am willing to do. You will, however, readily perceive how impossible it would be for me to return while at Versailles dwells the man who brought about my dismissal from Metz, in August. Do you not agree with me?"

"And if I do?" queried Maurepas, warily, doubtful of her point.

"If you do, monsieur! Will you, then, exile yourself on my arrival?"

"Exile myself? Pardon me, I do not understand you."

"I ask you, monsieur, if it was not you who wrote the letter of dismissal from Metz--that one delivered to me by d'Argenson?"

"Ah! I understand now. No, madame, I can freely say that I had nothing to do with your dismissal in any way. I had not dreamed that I was suspected of it."

Madame lay back, knitting her brows. The man before her had unquestionably told the truth. She knew that as much from his indifferent manner as from the lack of protestations in his denial. At first disappointed, the Duchess became, after a moment's reflection, intensely curious.

"Who, then, was it?" she cried, at last.

A smile broadened Maurepas' lips. His eyebrows went up, and his shoulders were lifted a hair's-breadth. "Madame--how should I know?"

"Ah, peste! In the same way that the whole court must know! Truly, I should be a fool to go back to Versailles ignorant of the name of him who had sought to ruin me. Every one would be laughing behind my back. Monsieur le Marquis, you may either answer my question or return to the King the message that I shall, after all, remain here."

"Madame--this is beyond my province. I am quite innocent of evil intent towards you. What others have done is not my concern." Maurepas spoke urgently. He saw himself getting into such difficulties as a diplomatic man dreads most.

Madame was angry. "You have heard what I say. You shall abide by it. Tell me--or go."

Maurepas sought his snuff-box agitatedly, and took a large pinch. On one side stood the anger of the King; on the other the life-enmity of a man who had before climbed gallantly out of deeper difficulties than the one into which the reinstallation of madame would throw him--Louis Armand du Plessis, grand-nephew of the greatest cardinal. And now was he, Maurepas, reduced to trusting to a woman's word? Must he sue for that? Twice he paced the room from door to windows and back again, saw no help during the distance, and finally, disgusted with himself, waived lack of invitation, drew a chair to the Duchess' side, and sat carefully down.

"Mme. de Châteauroux--listen. I am unfortunately placed. I am anxious to do you the favor you ask; and yet, for political reasons, I am unwilling to incur the displeasure of a powerful man by allowing it to be known that it was I who informed you of his lack of devotion to your cause. You perceive this?"

The Duchess looked thoughtful. The words had been crisply spoken, and had betrayed none of Maurepas' real discomfiture. "Certainly," said she.

"Well, then, regretfully but necessarily, I must impose certain conditions under which, only, will I consent to divulge this matter to you."

"What are the conditions?"

"Ah! They are neither unreasonable nor difficult, madame. As soon as you re-enter Versailles his Majesty will send to you--as he informed me himself--a list of the courtiers' names, which you will have the privilege of revising. Now, madame, if you will give me your word that this man whose identity I am going to reveal shall be dismissed from Versailles simply by means of that list and not with any marked indignity, if you will also assure me that I shall never be mentioned as concerned in the affair in any way, then, madame, I am but too delighted to enlighten you."

There was a pause. La Châteauroux considered. Maurepas, his undiplomatic proposition made, philosophically took snuff. Fortunately, the times when one must place confidence in a woman were rare. They-- His incipient meditations were, however, interrupted.

"Monsieur le Marquis--"

"Madame!"

"I agree to your conditions. I give my word."

"You have reflected well?"

"I have reflected. Quick! The man!"

"Richelieu, madame."

"Oh!--Ah!--Why did I not see it before!"

With such speed did madame run the whole gamut of evidence: the last morning at Metz; Richelieu's absence from the rooms; his imperturbability before Chartres; her letters since dismissal scantily answered, and, some of them, not at all; his failure to visit her since the return; and then, last night, Louis' uneasiness at her curiosity. Yes. It was but too plain. Richelieu, King's favorite, her own mentor, had turned traitor at last.

"Ah! The villain! The wretch! The traitor! The imbecile! Never again shall he see me at Versailles! Monsieur, will you pour me a glass of water there?"

Upon the little table at her side stood a high pitcher and a small silver goblet. Maurepas hastened to comply with the request, and, as he handed her the cup, he noted how eagerly she drank, how bright was the flush on her cheek, how transparent the hand that she held to her face; and then the rather grim question came to him whether, after all, Richelieu's banishment would endure very long. But the thought was only transitory. After all, a woman of twenty-seven, strong of body and stronger of spirit, is not carried off at the very summit of her career by an intermittent fever. Thus, when she returned the empty cup to the King's minister, and their glances met for a second, he read in her face resolution and to spare to carry her through much more than such a sickness as her present one.

"Have no fear of me, monsieur. I shall not betray you. Will you accept my gratitude?"

Maurepas bowed courteously. "When shall we at Versailles have the opportunity of welcoming you and Mme. de Lauraguais back again?"

The Duchess looked quickly up with a flicker of amusement in her eyes at his elaborate tone. "I do not know. I am, at present, as you may perceive, scarcely able to be moved so far or to enter upon my week of duties as lady of the Queen, even should I reach Versailles safely. I must wait here till I am stronger. Till that time--M. de Richelieu may relieve the King's ennui. Must you retire so soon?"

Maurepas was evidently upon the point of departure. "My--the affair between us is concluded, is it not? May I take to his Majesty the word of our renewed friendship?"

Mme. de Châteauroux held out her hand, and, while the minister bent over to kiss it, she smiled down on the powdered head with a look in her eyes that he, could he have seen it, would have considered with something like apprehension. "Our friendship is ratified, M. de Maurepas. _Au revoir_."

"I shall be the first to welcome you at Versailles."

"Thank you. With Maurepas for one's friend, who could dread anything?"

"You flatter me too much. _Au revoir_."

So, with a final salute, and a grim smile at himself for his undeniable defeat at a woman's hands, Maurepas concluded his task, and, with relief at his heart, crossed the threshold of the dwelling of the favorite of France.