CHAPTER VIII

Deep Waters

The King and his companion returned to Versailles on Friday, as quietly as they had left it three days before; and it was probable that most of the court was unaware that his Majesty had been invisible for any but usual reasons--exclusive hunting, and intimate suppers, somewhere, with some one. The little circle of royal companions who selected what details of gossip might cross the threshold of the Salle du Conseil or the Petits Cours Intérieurs into the Œil-de-Bœuf were extremely discreet. For days Rumor, always with the name of la Châteauroux as a refrain for her verses, flapped over Paris and Versailles, chanting vigorously. Keepers of journals, d'Argenson and the worthy de Luynes, wrote wildly, contradicting one day all that had been said on the day before, and which, in turn, would be falsified to-morrow. Was Madame la Duchesse really to be reinstated, or, like her sister predecessor, to be kept on there in Paris in sackcloth and regret ever after? This question no one definitely answered. Mme. d'Etioles, now and then in the palace, more often away under the close surveillance of her husband, trembled between anticipation and despair. There was another at court in much the same way. This was Richelieu, who, for the first time since his début, living as he did at the very door of the kingdom's adytum, was still outside the pale of knowledge. Daily he scanned the face of Maurepas, a suavely blank space, which hinted tantalizingly at how much lay behind it. The King's demeanor was no less incomprehensible. He was generally sulky; seemed to have settled down into a routine; attended four war councils and two of finance, to Machault's terror, in one week; ate little; drank much; was seen often in unofficial but very private conference with Maurepas; and now and then treated Richelieu with such open and kindly affection that fainting hope revived in the Duke's heart, and he ceased numbering days.

As a matter of fact, la Châteauroux continued to be ill; for a king's favor will not banish malaria in one day. Mme. de Lauraguais was growing intensely anxious to be safe at Versailles again. The Duchess, curiously enough, was infinitely less impatient. Perhaps she knew too well what Versailles meant to experience unmixed joy at the prospect of the return. Not till physical strength was hers again did she care to go into the inevitable maze of intrigue, enmity, and deceit which one entered by the door to the little apartments. Dr. Quesnay, of Méré, a friend of Mme. d'Etioles, none the less a good physician and a bluffly honest man, attended her in Paris assiduously. Under his care the favorite certainly improved, day by day, till, on the 4th of the last month of the year, four messages flew over the road, two from Paris to Versailles, and two from the palace there to the Rue du Bac. And that night the King did not sleep, but was, nevertheless, late to mass on the morning of the fifth, when a new day and a new era dawned for the Œil-de-Bœuf and for the history of France.

The 5th of December fell on Sunday, and proved a day dull enough for all the court. For once their Majesties dined together in the Salle du Grand Couvert, as Louis XIV. would have had them do. But the King did not appear at his consort's salon in the evening. He merely informed her that it was his pleasure that she should hold a special reception two nights later, on the evening of the 7th, at which he would be present; why, he did not explain. Though it would be the evening before the Feast of the Conception, and therefore a time for extra devotions, Marie Leczinska gratefully acceded to her husband's request, delighted at anything which should bring him into her rooms. In the evening Louis supped in the small apartments with a select company of privileged gentlemen, his pages of the Court, Maurepas, and d'Argenson.

"It is a feast of nine, my friends--the old Roman number. Let us, then, be classic in our drinking and our conversation," observed his Majesty, with unusual loquacity.

"And is it to gods or goddesses that we chant our praises, Sire? Do we look to Olympus or--Cythera?" demanded Maurepas, slyly.

The King did not at once reply. Finally, with a smile peculiar to himself, he glanced at his favorite. "You shall choose the toast, du Plessis. Jove or Venus?"

Richelieu, ignorant of a cause, was at a loss to read the subtlety. "Venus, Sire," he replied, raising a glass to the candle-light before he drank.

"Merely the goddess in abstract?" murmured de Sauvré. "Surely her present living counterpart were better worthy the wine."

"Sire, will you not christen the toast?"

"Is it necessary? There is but one." The King negligently lifted his glass, while only de Coigny of all the tableful breathed normally. "Marie Leczinska, your Queen, gentlemen!"

Each face fell slightly. Glasses were emptied without a word, and the silence continued as the dishes of the first course were passed.

"These birds are very fine, but there is no venison," remarked Louis, helping himself to his favorite fillet of partridge.

"The last hunt was four days ago," observed Penthièvre.

The King looked quickly up. "Quite true. The councils have demanded me. But I am arranging a hunt--a large hunt. What meetings to-morrow, d'Argenson?"

"An important one, Sire, at which M. Machault reads a report of the taxes of the Navarraise clergy during the last quarter--"

"Ah, yes. You and Machault are diligent enough there. But the day after--the 7th? I do not wish to be at council on that day."

"There will be none, Sire," responded the young man, obediently, the interest dying out of his eyes; and Maurepas, with some amusement, watched him begin to crumble his bread.

"That is very well. On Tuesday, gentlemen, we will follow the hounds through Sénart, retire to Choisy in the afternoon, and return to Versailles in time for her Majesty's salon in the evening. At Choisy, gentlemen, I shall myself prepare a dish, an especial one, which Mouthier* has created for me, and in the making of which the greatest delicacy is necessary. It is to be a _vol-au-vent royal, à la_--the last of the name is not important. It will be a triumph of art."

* Louis' favorite chef.

"Shall you prepare it for the company, or--for one person, Sire?" queried de Gêvres.

"There will be more for the party. This one--is--particular."

"For her Majesty, without doubt," murmured d'Epernon, smiling.

Maurepas and the King exchanged glances, and Richelieu, intercepting the look, started suddenly, not recovering his poise till de Gêvres had read into his mind.

"Sire, this one person whom you so honor returns in the party to Versailles--is it not so?" asked de Sauvré, bravely.

"Naturally her Majesty returns to Versailles."

"She holds a salon that evening," muttered de Gêvres to de Coigny, who sat next him.

"Who?--The Queen?" whispered the marshal in his turn.

"I don't know. We are not really speaking of the Queen?"

"D'Argenson, you hold the supper-list for Choisy. I--a--would speak with you about invitations later this evening. You will be in the Salle des Pendules at an early hour."

D'Argenson bowed.

The supper-list? Deborah was upon that. Richelieu breathed deeply. Was he wrong in his fears? And yet, was it possible that this secrecy should be used in the installation of a new favorite? Certainly none at that table except Maurepas was any more enlightened concerning this affair than he was himself. He scanned the faces around him. De Sauvré and Coigny were unconcerned. Veiled curiosity was perceptible in the eyes of d'Epernon and Penthièvre. D'Argenson, like a very young diplomat, appeared reflective, and inclined to conjecture by analysis the real object of his forthcoming interview with the King. And de Gêvres, whose face was invariably set in an expression of bored indifference, had now something in the line of mouth and eyes that gave his countenance a suggestion of alertness and satisfaction. Richelieu concluded his scrutiny with even less hope than he had begun it. However, since the table were eating with good appetite, he made shift to follow, and forget himself as far as might be in a well-seasoned ragout of pigeon.

"_Vol-au-vent_ is certainly a charming dish!" cried Louis, presently, harking back to his favorite pursuit.

"And of what is it made, Sire? Is it--sweet?"

"Ah, Sauvré, that is a secret. You shall learn it on Tuesday. Bring an appetite with you from the hunt. Perhaps you may even assist in its manufacture. I told Mouthier that I would have no cooks meddle with my dish, but that my good friends would assist me in the kitchen."

"We are honored," came the little chorus.

Louis inclined his head.

"Your Majesty has--a--been making candies, of late," observed d'Epernon, with intended malice.

The King coughed. "A few--chocolates. I have been experimenting with a new _fondant_. It is delightful."

"Who gets them?--the de Mailly?" whispered de Sauvré to Richelieu.

The Duke shook his head helplessly. "I have never seen any there. I do not think that it is she." Again he looked round the circle, and again was Maurepas' the only intelligent face present. Richelieu bit his lip in anger; but, as the second course and much wine now made its appearance, the conversation turned to less ambiguous topics, and the drinking, with all its conviviality, began. Many were the ladies to whom Louis deigned to raise his glass, the Countess de Mailly being among the first of them. And when, an hour later, the nine gentlemen rose from the table, the cares and fears of all of them were lighter. After a bottle of old Tokay, a tender partridge, and a successful epigram, who would not rise above a dread of the intrigues of a fickle, unhappy King, whose best hours were spent with men, and to whom, at such times, women seemed unimportant enough?

On being dismissed from their liege, several of the gentlemen departed towards the salon of the Queen, to join the promenade and see the newly presented ladies. One or two left the palace for appointments in the town. Richelieu, out of spirits, and glad to be alone, went off to the King's bedroom, where, as first gentleman of the chamber, he ousted Bachelier, and himself prepared the room for the grand _couche_. Next to this bedroom, towards the front of the palace, its windows opening upon the little Court of Marbles, was the Salle des Pendules. Here, after the supper, according to his Majesty's command, came young d'Argenson, with the list of courtiers eligible for Choisy suppers in his pocket. The King did not keep his youthful minister waiting. After a few smiling words with Maurepas, who was now blessing Fate for that past interview and "reconciliation" in November, Louis hurried from the Salle des Croisades up the corridor, into the Salle du Jeu, and so to that of the clocks.

"Ah! You await me, monsieur. Your promptness is gratifying."

D'Argenson made obeisance.

The King passed across to the window, and stood with his hand on the sill, looking out across the court at the lights in the opposite rooms. "D'Argenson, have you, beside the Choisy list, one of the entire Court and all the families here represented?"

"There is such a list, Sire, but it is in the keeping of M. de Berryer. At your command, I will obtain it from him."

The King hesitated, seemed to reflect for a moment, and then, with his eyes still fixed outside the room, answered: "Yes, that were as well. De Berryer is in Paris, I believe. And, well, Monsieur le Comte--" the King turned and faced him--"I have a mission for you to-morrow."

D'Argenson bowed.

"You will leave for Paris, at an hour as early as you find convenient. Arrived at the city, go at once to the Prefecture, obtain the written list of the Court from de Berryer--I will send you an order to-night--and proceed with that to the Rue du Bac, numéro--."

In the candle-light young d'Argenson started violently.

His Majesty smiled. "Yes. You will find there Mme. de Châteauroux; and to her you will present the list. She will be so gracious as to read it through and to strike from it the names of those who have not the happiness to please her. In the afternoon you will return to me with the revised list, which--um--I shall put into execution on Wednesday, probably. That is all, monsieur. I wish you good-evening."

The Count was about to leave the apartment, when the King himself turned upon his red heel and abruptly left the room. D'Argenson, with a new horizon to his world, moved weakly to the side of the room, and sank upon a tabouret just as the door opposite to him swung open, and Richelieu, his task completed, appeared from the King's bedroom.

"Hola, Marc! What is the matter? You need rouge," he said, wearily.

"I should prefer a glass of Berkley's English gin," responded the Count, without animation.

"What is it? You have seen his Majesty?"

"Yes."

"Well--your news?"

D'Argenson looked about him nervously. Then, rising, he moved over and spoke in Richelieu's ear. "The new dish--vol-au-vent--is to be _à la_ Châteauroux. To-morrow she revises the Court list."

"Mon Dieu!" Richelieu whispered the exclamation, and raised one of his slender hands to his forehead. "What to do? You--you also are in dread, Marc?"

D'Argenson shrugged, with a pitiful attempt at indifference. "I carried her the message of dismissal from Metz."

"Ah!" Richelieu hesitated for a second. Then he said, softly: "When will the revisal of the list be carried into effect at Court? Do you know?"

"On Wednesday."

"There is, then, a day--of grace."

"One. The King hunts. We shall all be at Choisy. Madame joins us there, you know, and returns with us--for the salon of the Queen."

"Naturally."

"What shall you do? Resign your post now?"

Richelieu was silent, and his face looked drawn. This sensation of helplessness was very new to him. He seemed to hesitate. Then, after a few moments he said, slowly: "No, I shall wait. One thing--will you do me a favor?"

"What is that? There are few enough in my power now."

"To-morrow evening, when you return from Paris, show me the list."

"Monsieur, I cannot seek you. If we should meet--by chance--"

Richelieu bowed. "Certainly. It is all I ask. If we should meet by chance."

"In that case, I will do so. At any rate, I will--tell you."

"My thanks are yours."

Both bowed. Thereupon d'Argenson would have turned away, but Richelieu suddenly held out his right hand. "It is no ordinary affair," he said.

The young Count frankly accepted the offer. Their hands clasped firmly for an instant, and the moment of brotherhood did both good.

"Do you go, now, to the salon of her Majesty?"

"I had thought not, to-night; but I have changed my mind."

"I will come with you."

"And to-morrow morning," added the Duke, as they left the room together--"to-morrow morning, after mass, I shall go to the Œil-de-B[ce]uf and remain there till you return in the evening."

"Why do that? You will gain nothing there."

"I shall gain atmosphere. It reeks of the Court, as a chandler reeks of tallow. I shall like--to take it away with me."

D'Argenson smiled faintly; and then in silence they passed into the Queen's antechamber.

Marie Leczinska's salon was not so brilliant as the one of two weeks before. It was, however, sufficiently filled to put one in proper mood, without danger of ruining hoops; which, after all, was a slight relief. Both Claude and Deborah were here to-night, never together, but also never very far apart. Mme. de Mailly had become one of the most-sought-after persons in the Court, and her husband, while he conformed always to the conventions by not approaching her in public, was, nevertheless, aware of every person who spoke to her of an evening, heard every compliment paid her by men, and a good many of the enviously malicious speeches that were beginning to be made about her by the women. To-night Richelieu, on entering the salon, made his way at once to Deborah's side. She had been speaking with the Marquis de Tessé, while the Prince de Soubise hovered near, thinking up a suitable gallantry with which to pounce upon her. Richelieu adroitly forestalled him, however, and reached her first, well pleased at being able to do so. The Duke was moving at random, for he had found no plan of possible salvation yet. There only lay in his mind a dim notion that, if safety should be his at the eleventh hour, it would come to him through this same Deborah. The idea was surely instinctive, for it had small reason in it. What could a little colonial, what could any woman--the poor, pale Queen herself--do against Claude's cousin, the reinstated favorite, the great Duchesse de Châteauroux, and that gently spoken, inflexible, indomitable "_Je le veux_" which Louis of France had used? True, Deborah had become a de Mailly, had been much noticed by the King, and was talked of in peculiar whispers by all the Court. Nevertheless, what so precarious as her position? What favors might she ask? None. And yet, here was falling Richelieu hurrying to no Maurepas, no Machault, or Berryer, or any powered man, but to the side of her who had been born, eighteen years before, in a wide-roofed Virginia farm-house.

"Madame, do you go to the Opéra to-morrow night?" he asked, idly.

"I do not know, Monsieur le Duc. What is it to be?"

"'Jephté,' I have heard--Montclair, you know. Pélissier and Thévénard are to sing, and the ballet in that piece is delightful. Sallé and Nicolet will lead it."

"Oh, I should like to go! I have seen Mlle. Sallé--last week. And Mme. Pélissier also. She has such a voice!"

"Will you, then, you and monsieur, do me the honor to occupy my box? We will have Mme. de Coigny and the abbé--"

"Oh no! Please--" Deborah began, impulsively, but, realizing what she was doing, stopped short in embarrassment.

"Pardon me, I did not know that you and the little Victorine were--uncongenial. Whom shall I ask?"

"Any one--any one, of course. Mme. de Coigny, by all means, monsieur."

Richelieu looked at her curiously, and might have spoken his thought had not Claude at that moment moved somewhat closer to them, and the Duke, therefore, turned to him. "I am just praying Madame la Comtesse to arrange a party for me for the Opéra to-morrow evening. Will you not join us?"

"Thank you, I am engaged to St. Severin for a supper and the Français. Madame, if she has no other engagement, will be delighted to accept your kindness, I do not doubt," returned Claude, pleasantly.

Deborah turned a half-wistful glance towards her husband, but was met with a gentle smile of refusal that suddenly changed her manner.

"Monsieur le Duc, I shall be but too happy to accompany you, if you will arrange the party. I do not think that I know--quite how."

Richelieu bowed his thanks, and looked long into her honest gray eyes. "I will call for you in my coach at seven, madame, if you will permit. I bid you--_au revoir_." With a bow such as he would have given to a superior in rank, he moved away, making room for M. de Soubise, who had settled upon his compliment, and was itching to have it out before it should lose flavor with silent rehearsal.

Richelieu did not remain much longer in the room. Towards the end of the promenade his Majesty, his dog Charlotte under one arm, unexpectedly made his appearance, negligent in manner, intent, as it seemed, on speaking with Deborah. Richelieu saw the King with a new feeling. It was the first time that he had ever thought of Louis as holding interests foreign to his own. Hitherto they had been allies in every council, in every amusement. Now, at last, in desire and intention, they were separated, and it was a woman who stood between them. Richelieu shook himself. His thoughts were becoming bitter. Cutting short an exchange of graces with Mme. de Mirepoix, he left the rooms, and, informing the grand chamberlain that he would be unable to assist at the royal _couche_ that evening, sought his own apartment, and was put to bed by his valet, not to sleep, but to plan, to twist, to turn, and still, with a new, unconquerable dread, to anticipate the morrow.

Morning came late. Richelieu, in fact, rose with the dawn, for the King was always roused at eight, and it was the duty of the first gentleman, since he had been absent on the previous evening, to bring water in which his Majesty should wash, and to put the royal dressing-gown about the royal shoulders. Louis was in a quizzical mood, and tried, rather unkindly, to play with the feelings of his favorite courtier. Richelieu's _sang-froid_ was imperturbable, however. He was now bound in honor to his own code to exhibit no trace of the feeling which, last night, he had almost been guilty of betraying, through nervous uncertainty.

The King dressed, he completed his prayers, despatched the early entries, and, when he was finally installed with his chocolate and eggs in the council-hall, where the matter of the Navarraise taxes was later to be taken up, Richelieu himself partook of a light breakfast, and then made a dignified progress towards the room of rooms--the Œil-de-Bœuf--where, possibly, his fate might, by accident, be already known. On his way through the halls of the gods and the grand gallery, he met not a few with the same destination in mind. Certainly none could have told, from his measured morning greetings, his offers or acceptance of snuff, his lightly witty words, what a tumult of anxiety raged within him. By this time d'Argenson must be entering Paris. Did any besides himself know that errand on which he went? More, did any surmise its result? How long had he still to remain in this, his home? Hours? Years? Was his dread, after all, reasonable? Had any one divulged to her his part in the Metz affair? True, it was Court property; but--ah! he had been very rash in the Alsatian city. Never should he forget the morning when he had cried out, before all the salon there, the news that Louis had grown worse in the last hours. Here, even now, like a ghost conjured up by memory, was young Monseigneur de Chartres, coming out from the Bull's-eye. Du Plessis, as he saluted, quivered. Then, with a gallant recuperation, he smiled to himself, and passed on into that little room of fate.

Considering that the hour was before morning mass, the Œil-de-Bœuf was unusually thronged. Both men and women were there, and the place hummed with conversation. For the first moment or two Richelieu held off from the company, judging, by means of his trained ear and his long experience, the nature of the gossip from the key of the conglomerate sound. It varied to-day, now high with laughter, now more ominous, again medium with uncertainty. The omen was good. It boded no definite evils of knowledge--yet. Thereupon the Duke permitted himself to be accosted by M. de Pont-de-Vesle, of the King's formal household, an old man, tall and lean, wearing his wig _à la_ Catogan, and with a miniature of Ninon de l'Enclos in his snuff-box.

"Good-morning, Monsieur the Grand-Nephew! Whom does the King receive to-day during the little hours?" With the question he proffered snuff.

"Thank you. Ah! You use civet. The King does not receive to-day. He is in council. Machault reads the report," returned Richelieu, very civilly, considering the fact that Pont-de-Vesle had addressed him in the form which, of all others, he most disliked.

"Ah! When his Majesty has not hunted for a week we are all forlorn. When he takes to council--Ciel!--it is like the beginning of a reign of Maintenon. How do you perfume your snuff?"

"Oh, it is something aromatic, composed for me by Castaigne, of Paris. Sandalwood, cinnamon, attar--I forget the rest. Do me the honor to try it."

With ceremonious solemnity Pont-de-Vesle accepted a pinch, just as young d'Aiguillon came smilingly up to them. "Good-morning, Monsieur le Duc! Do you bring news, or come for it?"

"I come for it, my dear Count," returned Richelieu. "What do they talk of in the Œil to-day?"

"One subject only."

"So bad as that? Who has committed it? I am all ignorance!"

"You mistake. There is no fresh scandal. It is--"

"Women," put in Pont-de-Vesle, sourly.

"Oh! What women?"

"That is more difficult. There are many rumors. It is said in Paris that--Mme. de Châteauroux is to come back."

The Duke raised his eyebrows. "Paris! That is a curious news-mart. What says Versailles?"

"Oh!--" Young d'Aiguillon stopped, assuming a mysterious expression.

"We say," interrupted the other, quickly, "that there are other candidates who would please better."

"For instance?"

"Well, for one, the little American, Mme. de Mailly. But, parbleu! the post must not remain forever in one family! I think that this girl should never have been taken up. What is her blood? Her husband swears to five generations; but--the husband!--Pouf!"

"But the Queen was delighted with her, and--the King will be," cried the young Count, pleasantly.

"Who is your candidate, monsieur?" demanded Richelieu of Pont-de-Vesle.

"Mine? Oh--that is a delicate question. Nevertheless, I think 'tis time we had a woman of station. Now, Mme. de Grammont--"

"Heavens!"

"An _étiquette_? You are mad, monsieur!"

"Not at all. I protest--"

"Is she, then, so willing to accept the post?"

Pont-de-Vesle stiffened. "Oh, as to that--I cannot say. She is spoken of--not to."

"Ah, well," decided d'Aiguillon, sagely, "after all, it will be the ladies, not we, who will settle matters for themselves."

"As for me, I should like to find a woman who would refuse the post."

And with this Richelieu, who could see no advantage in continuing the conversation, saluted his companions of the moment and passed on to others, whose talk, however, did not much vary from the foregoing style. By the time that the hour for mass arrived, and the Court wended a leisurely way towards Mansard's chapel, the favorite Duke was comforted in mind and heart. He hoped; though why, and on what grounds, he could not have told. The Œil-de-Bœuf was densely ignorant of the King's real project. He, Richelieu, knew it only too well. La Châteauroux was to come back. Paris knew. How, then, had he any right, or any reason, to hope? And, with this logic, the shadow of despair came over him again, and through it, as through a veil, he heard the melancholy intoning of priests' voices and the monotonous chanting of the choir.

Dinner passed, it were difficult to say how, and the afternoon began. There was attendance on his Majesty, who alternately played with three dogs and sulked because there was nothing further to do; a few moments at English tea with the circle of Mme. de Boufflers; an enforced interchange of polite hostilities with de Gêvres, in the Salle d'Apollo; and then, some little time after dusk began to fall, Richelieu made his way down to the landing of the Staircase of the Ambassadors, out of sight of the Suisses and the King's guards, in the great vestibule below. He was intensely nervous. With each beat of his heart a new shock thrilled unpleasantly over him. D'Argenson must be returning soon now, and must come in this way. Minutes only remained before he should know the end. The lights in the great candelabra at the stair-top illumined the vast, lifeless ascent but dimly. Dreamily Richelieu thought of the pageants that he had seen upon this stair; wondered, indeed, if he should see such again. Before great dread, time itself flies. It seemed no half-hour, but a few seconds only, to the waiting man before a darkly cloaked figure entered into the vestibule, passed the Suisses in silence, and came, with wearily dragging steps, up the stairs. Half-way up, the candle-light gleamed for an instant into his pallid face. Richelieu's heart quivered downward as he stepped out from his sheltering pillar and stood before young d'Argenson.

"Well, then--you return."

D'Argenson shot a look into the other's face. "For a day," he replied, without much expression, his lip curling slightly.

"Then she--"

"Struck me off at once."

Richelieu drew a heavy breath. "And I?" he asked, softly.

"And you--also."

It had come, then. The two men stood still on the stairs, facing each other for an unnoted time. Then Richelieu smiled. "You are wet with the rain, Marc. When you leave the King, come to my rooms. There you will find Grachet and some hot rum. I must make my toilet now. I have a party to-night--for the Opéra."

D'Argenson stared. "Mon Dieu!" he muttered to himself, "we diplomats have not such training!"