CHAPTER II

The Toilet

Dawn, the late dawn of a gray, wintry morning, hung over Versailles. Within the palace walls those vast corridors, which had lately rung to sounds of life and laughter, stretched endlessly out in the ghostly chill of the vague light. Chill and stillness had crept also under many doors; and they breathed over that stately room in which Marie Anne de Châteauroux was accustomed to take the few hours of relief from feverish life granted her by kindly sleep.

Though the favorite's apartment was as dark as drawn curtains could make it, nevertheless a thin gleam of gray shot relentlessly between hanging and wall, and, falling athwart the canopied bed, announced that madame's temporary rest approached its end. Against this decree, however, madame's attitude would seem to rebel. She lay, apparently in profound sleep, in the very centre of the great bed, sheets and cover drawn closely about her, up to her throat. Only one hand, half hidden in lace, and her head, with its framing mass of yellow, powder-dulled hair, were visible. In her waking life that head of the Duchess of Châteauroux was celebrated for its marvellous poise. And even now, as it lay relaxed upon the pillow, the effect of its daytime majesty was not quite lost. Viewed thus, devoid of animation or expression, the pure, classic beauty of the face showed to better advantage, perhaps, than at another time. Already, however, ennui, and the constant effort at appearance of pleasure, had left their marks upon the regular features; and, indeed, much other than mere beauty might be found in the countenance. If there were power in the breadth of the forehead, there was too much determination in the chin; while at each corner of the delicate mouth a faint line gave a cast of resolution, dogged and relentless, to the feminine ensemble.

Presently, as the shadows melted more and more, the woman's silken-lashed eyes fell open, and the first of her waking thoughts was expressed in a long, melancholy sigh.

The duties of the Duchess as Lady of the Palace of the Queen necessitated her presence at the grand toilet of her Majesty on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, therefore, except on those weeks when she was in constant attendance on Louis' consort, the Châteauroux accustomed the Court to a toilet of her own, which the King's faction religiously frequented, while the Queen's circle, the religious party, rolled their eyes, clasped their hands, violently denounced the insolence of it, and fervently wished that they might go, too. Certainly madame's morning receptions were eminently successful, and, however much gentle Marie Leczinska might disapprove of them in secret, she never had the courage to anger her husband by voicing her sense of indignity. Thus, six mornings of the week being provided for, on Saturday the Duchess confessed herself, though no absolution was to be had, and prayed forgiveness for the other part of her life.

As madame awoke, and the clock upon her mantel-piece struck eight, a door into the room swung open, and a trimly dressed maid came in. She pushed back the curtains from the window, looped them up, and crossed to the bedside.

"'Tis you, Antoinette?" came a voice from beneath the canopy.

"Yes, madame. Shall I bring the water?"

"At once."

As Antoinette once more disappeared, madame sat up and pushed aside the curtains of her bed.

For the following quarter of an hour, while the first part of the toilet was being performed, the second and elaborate half of that daily function was prepared for in the second room of the favorite's suite--the famous boudoir. A remarkable little room this, with its silken hangings of Persian blue and green and white; and a remarkable little man it was who sat informally upon a tabouret, in the midst of the graceful confusion of chairs, sofas, consoles, and inlaid stands, while in front of him was the second dressing-table, whereon reposed the paraphernalia of the coiffeur, and beside him was a small bronze brazier, where charcoal, for the heating of irons, burned. The profession of M. Marchon was instantly proclaimed by his elaborate elegance of wig. He had been, at some time, perruquier to each French queen of the last three decades, from Mme. de Prie to the ill-fated sisters of the present Duchess. Just now he was ogling, in the last Court manner, the second wardrobe-girl, who stood near him, beside a spindle-legged table, polishing a mirror. And Célestine ogled the weazened Marchon while she worked and wondered if madame would miss her last present from d'Argenson, a Chinese mandarin with a rueful smile, who sat alone in the cabinet of toys, and ceaselessly waved his head. The courtly companionship between the two servants had lasted for some time when there came a faint scratch on the bedroom door. It was Antoinette's friendly signal. The hair-dresser leaped to his place and bent over the irons, while Célestine forced her eyes from the bit of porcelain and put away her polishing cloth as Mme. de Châteauroux entered the room.

The Duchess seated herself before the first table, where Mlle. Célestine administered certain effective and skilfully applied touches to the pale face, and when these had rendered her to her mind for the hour, madame surrendered herself into Marchon's hands, where she would remain for a good part of the morning.

The preliminary brushing of the yellow locks had not yet been completed when the first _valet-de-chambre_ threw open the door from the antechamber and announced carefully:

"The Duc de Gêvres."

De Gêvres, as usual, delayed his entrance a full minute. Then he came in languidly, snuff-box in his right hand, hat under his arm, peruke immaculate, and eye-glass dangling at his waist. He bowed. Madame raised her hand. The Duke advanced, lifted it to his lips, and left upon its fair surface a faint red trace of his salute. Madame smiled.

"You have come to me early," she said.

"I arose," remarked the man, pensively, "to find the world in gray. I arrayed myself to match the sky, and came to seek the sun. When I leave you I shall don pale blue, for you will drive the clouds from my day."

Madame smiled again. "Thank you. But the gray is marvellously becoming. Pray do not attempt a second toilet this morning. One is singularly depressing."

"Surely, you are not depressed, Madame de Versailles?" he asked, idly, examining her _negligée_ of India muslin with approval. "Why depressed? Louis was furious at your unaccountable absence from the salon last evening, and would play with no one. He stayed in a corner for two hours, railing at d'Orry and permitting not a soul to approach. Is it in pity for him, this morning, that you suffer?"

Madame shrugged. "I do not waste time in pity of his Majesty. At the request of Mme. d'Alincourt, I spent last evening in the apartments of the Queen."

"Good Heaven! Then, madame, allow me to express my deepest sympathy! I had no idea that you would play so recklessly with ennui. Why, your very gossip is a day old!"

"You, then, monsieur, I hail as my deliverer. Will you not act as my _Nouvelles à la Main_, that I may make no irretrievable blunder to-day?"

"Madame desires, the King is at her feet. Madame requests, and the gods obey. Where must one begin?"

"At the beginning."

De Gêvres smiled slowly in retrospection. It was for this precise opportunity that he had risen an hour early and dared royal displeasure by being alone with the favorite for thirty minutes. He rose from the chair he had taken, drew a tabouret to within a yard of the Duchess's knee, and reseated himself significantly.

"You frighten me, my lord. It must be serious."

De Gêvres shrugged. "Oh, not necessarily. You shall judge." He glanced meditatively at her feet, tapped his snuff-box, and began to speak just as Marchon finished the first curl. "Without doubt, madame, even after the deplorable past evening, you still recollect the rather _outré_ events of the day before. You cannot yet have forgotten the last Rambouillet chase, the gage you offered, his Majesty's unfortunate chagrin, and the intrepid, if rash, ardor of your young cousin, Count Claude?"

"Thus far my memory carries me, monsieur. Continue."

"Well! The rest is, indeed, curious. In spite of the Count's heroic gallantry, he appeared, later in the day, to have repented somewhat of having so eagerly dared the royal displeasure. A company of my friends were so good as to visit, with me, my _hôtel_--you know its condition--for play, on this very evening. By great good fortune, his Majesty, together with a companion, did us the honor himself to join our party a little later. When the King beheld his successful rival, the Count, seated with us, he instantly proposed that the two of them play a round for high stakes. Louis, madame, offered a diamond star--valued, perhaps, at fifty thousand francs, or more, against--"

"My glove."

"Even so. You have, perhaps, heard the tale?" queried the Duke, hastily, with a suspicion of anxiety in his voice.

Mme. de Châteauroux noticed this, but her face continued to be as impassive as that of her smiling mandarin. "You forget my evening, monsieur. I know nothing. Continue, I beg of you."

"Monsieur le Marquis de Coigny and the Comte de Maurepas!" announced the valet.

De Gêvres coughed, but his face expressed none of the disappointment that he felt.

Mme. de Châteauroux greeted both gentlemen with imperturbable courtesy, and the three nobles, after her salutes were over, exchanged greetings. Then the favorite said, at once:

"Pray be seated, messieurs. M. de Gêvres is telling me a most interesting anecdote. Pardon if I ask him to finish it. Since it in a way concerns myself, I am so vain as to be curious."

The late-comers bowed and looked at the Duke, who, in that instant, had mentally sounded the intruders, considered his course, and decided to risk a continuance of his original plan. Without any noticeable hesitation, the story went on.

"As I said, his Majesty and the Count de Mailly were to play together for possession of the glove. The King threw first--four and three. De Mailly came next with five and two."

"Ah!" murmured de Coigny.

"Again Louis with ten, and the Count turned precisely the same number. His Majesty was visibly tingling with anxiety. He was about to throw for the last time, with a prayer to the gods, when the Count--um--took pity on him."

"He offered the glove?" asked madame, quietly.

De Gêvres bowed. "In a way, Duchess. He offered to--exchange the stakes."

"Oh!" cried Maurepas, angrily.

"Dastardly!" muttered de Coigny.

Mme. de Châteauroux flushed scarlet with anger beneath her powder.

Little Marchon, trained to high gallantry by long experience in haunts of the elect, left an iron in too long, and slightly scorched a lock of hair. His little eyes winked furiously with disapproval of the Count.

"Monsieur le Marquis de Mailly-Nesle!" came the announcement.

De Gêvres coughed again; and, amid rather a strained silence, Henri entered the apartment of his sister.

He looked about him for a moment or two with some curiosity, feeling the awkwardness of his arrival, and considering what it would be wise to say. Maurepas, the diplomat, recovered himself quickly, remarking, in a tone which relieved them all: "This brother's devotion, my dear Marquis, is gratifying to behold. One is really never so certain of finding you anywhere at a given hour as here, in your sister's boudoir."

"Mme. de Coigny has, I believe, no mornings _à la toilette_," observed Mme. de Coigny's husband.

Maurepas looked sharply at the speaker, while the others smiled, and the Duchess made every one still easier by laughing lightly.

"Her _sang-froid_ is unapproachable," murmured de Gêvres to Maurepas, behind his hand.

"You have certainly put it to strong test this morning," was the reply, rather coldly given.

"L'Abbé de St. Pierre and l'Abbé Devries!"

The two ecclesiastics entered from the antechamber and advanced, side by side, towards the Duchess. The taller of the two, St. Pierre, was a very desirable person in salon society, and could turn as neat a compliment or as fine an epigram in spontaneous verse as any member in the "rhyming brotherhood." At sight of St. Pierre's companion, who was a stranger here, the Marquis de Coigny gave a sudden, imperceptible start, and Henri de Mailly suppressed an exclamation.

"Madame la Duchesse, permit me to present to you my friend and colleague, l'Abbé Bertrand Devries, of Fontainebleau."

"I am charmed to see you both," deigned her Grace, giving her hand to St. Pierre, while she narrowly scrutinized the slight figure and delicate, ascetic face of the other young priest. The mild blue eyes met hers for a single instant, then dropped uneasily, as their owner bowed without speaking, and passed over to a small sofa, where, after a second's hesitation, he sat down. St. Pierre, who seemed to cherish some anxiety as to his new protégé's conduct, followed and remained beside him.

"Unused to the boudoir, one would imagine. It is unusual for one of his order. I am astonished that St. Pierre should have brought him to make a début before you," observed de Gêvres to la Châteauroux, who had not yet removed her eyes from the new priest.

"St. Pierre knows my fondness for fresh faces," she replied, indifferently, picking up a mirror to examine the coiffure, just as her lackey entered the room with small glasses of negus, which were passed among the party.

While de Coigny raised a glass to his lips he turned towards Devries. "You have spent all your time in Fontainebleau, M. Devries?" he asked, seriously.

"By no means, monsieur," was the answer, given in a light tenor voice. "Indeed, for the last two weeks I have been working in Paris."

"Working! And what, if my curiosity is not distasteful to you, is your work?" queried madame, still toying with the mirror.

"By all means," murmured de Gêvres, comfortably, after finishing his mild refreshment, "let us hear of some work. It soothes one's nerves inexpressibly."

Devries' blue eyes turned slowly till they rested on the slender figure of the Duke, clad in his gray satin suit, his white hands half hidden in lace, toying with a silver snuff-box. The eyes gleamed oddly, half with amusement, half with something else--weariness?--disgust?--surely it was not ennui; and yet--in an avowed courtier, that was what the look would have seemed to express.

"I will, then, soothe your nerves, if you wish it, sir. My work certainly was very real. For the past two weeks my abode has been in the Faubourg St. Antoine, but my days were spent in a very different part of the city. At dawn each morning, in company with my colleague--not M. de St. Pierre, here--I left behind those houses whose inmates rejoiced in clothes to cover themselves, in money enough to purchase a bone for soup daily, and who were even sometimes able to give away a piece of black bread to a beggar. These luxurious places we left, I say, and together descended into hell. It might amuse you still more, monsieur, to behold the alleys, the courts, the kennels, the holes filled with living filth into the midst of which we went. There women disfigure or cripple their children for life in order to give them a means of livelihood, that they may become successful beggars; there wine is not heard of, but alcohol is far commoner than bread; there you may buy souls for a quart of brandy, but must deliver your own into their keeping if you have not the wherewithal to appease, for a moment, their hatred of you, who are clean, who are fed, who are warm. Cleanliness down there is a crime. Ah! how they hate you, those dwellers in the Hell of Earth! How they hate us, and how they curse God for the lives they must lead! The name of God is never used except in oaths. And yet a girl, whose dying child I washed, knew how to bless me one day there. It seems to me that they might all learn how, if opportunity were but given them. There has been some bitter weather lately, when the frozen Seine has been a highway for trades-people. Those creatures among whom I went make no change from their summer toilets, gentlemen. Half--all the children--are quite naked. The women have one garment, and their hair. The men are clad in blouses, with perhaps a pair of sabots, if they can fight well to obtain them, or are ready to do murder without a qualm to keep them in their possession. It is among these people that I worked, Monsieur--de Gêvres--with my colleague."

"How eminently disgusting!" replied the Duke, calmly, but his remark was not pleasing to the rest of those present, who had been actually affected by the description. Henri de Mailly had risen to his feet, and, after a moment's pause, asked, rather harshly, "Who was your colleague, monsieur?"

The Marquis de Coigny shot a quick, warning glance at Henri, and raised his hand. "Monsieur l'Abbé, I am interested in your story. Would you do me the honor to breakfast with me this morning, and tell me more of this life?"

The little audience stared, and la Châteauroux lifted her head rather haughtily. Devries appeared, for some reason, to be very much amused.

"You are too good, Monsieur le Marquis. I have already partaken of my morning crust. Besides, you, doubtless, are happy enough to be daily in the company of Mme. de Châteauroux; while I, monsieur, am a poor priest, not often admitted to the dwellings of the highest." He rolled his eyes towards the figure of the Duchess, who was becoming visibly gracious under the effect of this slight compliment.

"You are not, then, a sharer of the opinions of those poor creatures amongst whom you have worked, and who, as you truthfully suggest, have some little cause to hate us, who have so much more in life than they?" queried Maurepas, with the interest of a Minister of the Interior.

"No, monsieur, assuredly I have no feeling of enmity towards the nobility of France. I should have no right. You see, I know very--very lit--" Suddenly Devries caught the eyes of St. Pierre fixed on him in so curious a glance that he was forced to stop speaking. His mouth began to twitch at the corners. He shook with an inward spasm, and finally lay back upon the sofa, emitting peal after peal of silvery, feminine laughter.

"Victorine!" cried the Duchess, starting from her chair. "Victorine, you madcap! So you have come back again!"

"Mme. de Coigny insisted," murmured St. Pierre, uncertain of his position.

The rest of the gentlemen sat perfectly still, staring at the little Marquise, and trying, out of some sense of propriety or gallantry, to keep from joining in her infectious laughter. Only Henri de Mailly sat near a window, his head on his fist, staring gloomily out upon the barren, stone-paved court.

"My dear madame!" cried Maurepas, when she had grown tearful with laughter, "your disclosure has done me an excellent turn. It has saved me five hundred livres. I was about thus to impoverish myself that you might be permitted to get still closer to heaven by spending another week in the criminal quarter distributing them."

The Marquise de Coigny grew suddenly serious again. "M. de Maurepas, let me take you at your word. I beg that you will send the money to him who was my companion in the work--l'Abbé de Bernis."

"Oh!--François de Bernis?" asked St. Pierre, in quick surprise. "I have met him at the Vincent de Paul."

"Her Majesty, I believe, receives him at times into her most religious coterie," put in de Maurepas.

"Well, since you know who he is, I will continue, if you will permit me. I beg that you will all, at least, believe that what I have said concerning my occupation in Paris was wholly serious. Indeed, indeed, I am in the highest sympathy with the work of the Jesuit fathers among the people; and there are few men in our world whom I--respect--as I do M. de Bernis."

At these words, so solemnly spoken that they could not but impress the listeners with their sincerity, the eyebrows of St. Pierre went up with surprise, though he remained silent. As a matter of fact, the reputation of the Abbé François Joachim de Pierre de Bernis was not noted for its sanctity.

"Will you, then, permit me, madame, to double my first offer?" said de Maurepas, with his mind on the treasury. "I will to-day send you a note for one thousand livres, which I beg that you will dispense in charity."

"M. de Maurepas, I wish that you could imagine what your word will mean to those poor creatures."

"And shall you yourself return to Paris with the money, madame?" inquired de Gêvres, smiling slightly.

De Coigny moved as though he would speak, but his wife answered immediately, in his stead: "No, Monsieur le Duc. I have no intention of taking permanently to a black gown. For two weeks it has occupied me satisfactorily to attend the poor. Now I shall come back to Court till I am again fatigued by all of you. After that I must devise a new amusement. Really--you all know my one eternal vow: I will not become successor to Mme. du Deffant. Death, if you like,--never such ennui as hers. M. de Mailly-Nesle, will you give--"

She did not finish. Henri had sprung quickly to his feet, but de Coigny was before him. "Pardon, Monsieur le Marquis," said he, with great courtesy, "will you allow me, to-day, instead. To-morrow I shall once more relinquish all to you."

De Mailly-Nesle could not, in reason, refuse the request, though it was against the conventions. He merely bowed as husband and wife, having variously saluted la Châteauroux and the rest of the company, passed together out of the boudoir.

"Mme. Victorine's eccentricity and her terror of being bored are excellent things. The husband seems to fall in love with her more violently than ever after each adventure."

"Ah, Madame la Marquise is too charming to be anything but successful everywhere. Really, Henri, you and de Bernis--"

Henri, angry at the first word, turned upon the Duke: "Monsieur, I would inform you that Mme. de Coigny is--"

"Ob yes, yes, yes! Pardon me," de Gêvres rose, "I understand perfectly that Mme. Victorine is the most virtuous, as she is the most charming, of women. Madame la Duchesse, I have been with you seemingly but one moment, and yet an hour has passed. His Majesty will be receiving the little entries. I bid you _au revoir_."

The Duchess held out her hand. The courtier kissed it, bowed to the three remaining men, and gracefully left the boudoir. When the door shut behind him a breath of fresher air crept through the room. Mailly-Nesle, who had been restlessly pacing round and round among the tables and chairs, paused. De Maurepas drew a tabouret to madame's side, and began to talk with her in the intimate and inimitably dignified manner that was his peculiar talent. St. Pierre was thoughtfully regarding nothing, when Henri approached and sat down beside him. Just as they began to speak together, Marchon stepped back a little from the chair of la Châteauroux.

"Madame," he cried, "the coiffure is finished."

At the same instant the door to the antechamber again flew open. "The Comte de Mailly!" announced the valet.

There was a second's pause and Claude ran into the room. "My dear cousin!" he cried, buoyantly, hurrying towards her.

Mme. de Châteauroux rose slowly from her place, stared at the new-comer for an instant with the insolence which only an insulted woman can use, then deliberately turned her back and moved across the room. Maurepas was already on his feet, and now, seizing his opportunity, he bowed to the woman, indicated Henri and the abbé in his glance, passed Claude with the barest recognition, and left the room congratulating himself on his adroit escape before the storm. Mailly-Nesle and St. Pierre sat perfectly still for an instant out of astonishment. Then, happily, the abbé came to himself, rose, repeated the performance of the minister, and hastened from the unpleasantness. The instant that he was gone Claude broke his crimsoning silence in a somewhat tremulous voice:

"Name of God, Marie, what have I done?"

Madame was at her dressing-table. Picking up a small mirror, she retouched her left cheek.

"Marie," said Henri, gently, "it is but fair that you let him know his fault."

A shiver of anger passed over the frame of la Châteauroux. Then, suddenly whirling about till she faced Claude, she whispered, harshly: "My gauntlet, Monsieur le Comte; my white gauntlet! Return it to me!"

Again Claude flushed, wretchedly, while his cousin spoke: "He has it not to return, Marie."

She turned then upon her brother. "So you, also, know this insult, and you counsel me to--let him know his fault! Ah, but your school of gallantry was fine!"

"This insult!" repeated Claude, stupidly.

"Fool! Do you think I do not know it?"

Count and Marquis alike stood perfectly still, staring at each other.

"Your innocence is awkwardly done," commented madame. "Show me the price, Monsieur Claude, for which you sold my gage."

"Price!" echoed Henri, angrily. But Claude drew a long breath.

"Ah! Now I begin, I but begin, to understand. Which was it that came to tell the story, madame? Was it d'Epernon, or Gêvres, or Richelieu who twisted the account of a forced act into one of voluntary avarice?"

The favorite shrugged. "Charming words! I make you my compliments on your heroic air. Will you, then, confront M. de Gêvres before me?"

"Most willingly, madame! Afterwards, by the good God, I'll run him through."

La Châteauroux bent her head, and there was silence till she lifted it again to face her young cousin. His eyes answered her penetrating glance steadily, eagerly, honestly. And thereupon madame began to turn certain matters over in her mind. She was no novice in Court intrigue; neither had she any great faith to break with de Gêvres. It was a long moment; but when it ended, the storm was over.

"How did it happen, Claude?"

"I gave the gauntlet to the King, when, man to man, he was beaten at dice."

"You received nothing in return?"

Claude was uncomfortable, but he did not hesitate. "Yes," he said, with lowered eyes. "I have brought it to you. I hate it."

From one of the great pockets in the side of his coat he drew a small, flat box, which he handed to his cousin. She received it in silence, opened it, and gazed upon the royal star. The frown had settled again over her face. Suddenly, with a quick impulse, she pulled open one of the small windows which looked down upon the Court of Marbles.

"Claude, take this and throw it out--there," she commanded.

[Illustration: "'CLAUDE--TAKE THIS AND THROW IT OUT--THERE'"]

De Mailly was at her side in two steps. Eagerly he seized the jewels and flung them, with angry satisfaction, far out upon the stones. La Châteauroux looked at him quizzically for an instant, then suddenly held out both hands to him. He did not fall upon his knee, as a courtier should have done; but threw his arms triumphantly about her and bent his powdered head over hers.

"Um," muttered Henri, indistinctly, "methinks I would better go and seek the fallen star."