THE RISING SUN.
The rooms which were inhabited by the lady who had already taken so
marked a position at the court of France were as humble as were her
fortunes at the time when they were allotted to her, but with that rare
tact and self-restraint which were the leading features in her
remarkable character, she had made no change in her living with the
increase of her prosperity, and forbore from provoking envy and jealousy
by any display of wealth or of power. In a side wing of the palace, far
from the central _salons_, and only to be reached by long corridors and
stairs, were the two or three small chambers upon which the eyes, first
of the court, then of France, and finally of the world, were destined to
be turned. In such rooms had the destitute widow of the poet Scarron
been housed when she had first been brought to court by Madame de
Montespan as the governess of the royal children, and in such rooms she
still dwelt, now that she had added to her maiden Francoise d'Aubigny
the title of Marquise de Maintenon, with the pension and estate which
the king's favour had awarded her. Here it was that every day the king
would lounge, finding in the conversation of a clever and virtuous woman
a charm and a pleasure which none of the professed wits of his sparkling
court had ever been able to give to him, and here, too, the more
sagacious of the courtiers were beginning to understand, was the point,
formerly to be found in the magnificent _salons_ of De Montespan, whence
flowed those impulses and tendencies which were so eagerly studied, and
so keenly followed up by all who wished to keep the favour of the king.
It was a simple creed, that of the court. Were the king pious, then let
all turn to their missals and their rosaries. Were he rakish, then who
so rakish as his devoted followers? But woe to the man who was rakish
when he should be praying, or who pulled a long face when the king wore
a laughing one! And thus it was that keen eyes were ever fixed upon
him, and upon every influence that came near him, so that the wary
courtier, watching the first subtle signs of a coming change, might so
order his conduct as to seem to lead rather than to follow.
The young guardsman had scarce ever exchanged a word with this powerful
lady, for it was her taste to isolate herself, and to appear with the
court only at the hours of devotion. It was therefore with some
feelings both of nervousness and of curiosity that he followed his guide
down the gorgeous corridors, where art and wealth had been strewn with
so lavish a hand. The lady paused in front of the chamber door, and
turned to her companion.
"Madame wishes to speak to you of what occurred this morning," said she.
"I should advise you to say nothing to madame about your creed, for it
is the only thing upon which her heart can be hard." She raised her
finger to emphasise the warning, and tapping at the door, she pushed it
open. "I have brought Captain de Catinat, madame," said she.
"Then let the captain step in." The voice was firm, and yet sweetly
musical.
Obeying the command, De Catinat found himself in a room which was no
larger and but little better furnished than that which was allotted to
his own use. Yet, though simple, everything in the chamber was
scrupulously neat and clean, betraying the dainty taste of a refined
woman. The stamped-leather furniture, the La Savonniere carpet, the
pictures of sacred subjects, exquisite from an artist's point of view,
the plain but tasteful curtains, all left an impression half religious
and half feminine but wholly soothing. Indeed, the soft light, the high
white statue of the Virgin in a canopied niche, with a perfumed red lamp
burning before it, and the wooden _prie-dieu_ with the red-edged
prayer-book upon the top of it, made the apartment look more like a
private chapel than a fair lady's boudoir.
On each side of the empty fireplace was a little green-covered
arm-chair, the one for madame and the other reserved for the use of the
king. A small three-legged stool between them was heaped with her
work-basket and her tapestry. On the chair which was furthest from the
door, with her back turned to the light, madame was sitting as the young
officer entered. It was her favourite position, and yet there were few
women of her years who had so little reason to fear the sun, for a
healthy life and active habits had left her with a clear skin and
delicate bloom which any young beauty of the court might have envied.
Her figure was graceful and queenly, her gestures and pose full of a
natural dignity, and her voice, as he had already remarked, most sweet
and melodious. Her face was handsome rather than beautiful, set in a
statuesque classical mould, with broad white forehead, firm, delicately
sensitive mouth, and a pair of large serene gray eyes, earnest and
placid in repose, but capable of reflecting the whole play of her soul,
from the merry gleam of humour to the quick flash of righteous anger.
An elevating serenity was, however, the leading expression of her
features, and in that she presented the strongest contrast to her rival,
whose beautiful face was ever swept by the emotion of the moment, and
who gleamed one hour and shadowed over the next like a corn-field in the
wind. In wit and quickness of tongue it is true that De Montespan had
the advantage, but the strong common-sense and the deeper nature of the
elder woman might prove in the end to be the better weapon. De Catinat,
at the moment, without having time to notice details, was simply
conscious that he was in the presence of a very handsome woman, and that
her large pensive eyes were fixed critically upon him, and seemed to be
reading his thoughts as they had never been read before.
"I think that I have already seen you, sir, have I not?"
"Yes, madame, I have once or twice had the honour of attending upon you
though it may not have been my good fortune to address you."
"My life is so quiet and retired that I fear that much of what is best
and worthiest at the court is unknown to me. It is the curse of such
places that evil flaunts itself before the eye and cannot be overlooked,
while the good retires in its modesty, so that at times we scarce dare
hope that it is there. You have served, monsieur?"
"Yes, madame. In the Lowlands, on the Rhine, and in Canada."
"In Canada! Ah! What nobler ambition could woman have than to be a
member of that sweet sisterhood which was founded by the holy Marie de
l'Incarnation and the sainted Jeanne le Ber at Montreal? It was but the
other day that I had an account of them from Father Godet des Marais.
What joy to be one of such a body, and to turn from the blessed work of
converting the heathen to the even more precious task of nursing back
health and strength into those of God's warriors who have been struck
down in the fight with Satan!"
It was strange to De Catinat, who knew well the sordid and dreadful
existence led by these same sisters, threatened ever with misery,
hunger, and the scalping-knife, to hear this lady at whose feet lay all
the good things of this earth speaking enviously of their lot.
"They are very good women," said he shortly, remembering Mademoiselle
Nanon's warning, and fearing to trench upon the dangerous subject.
"And doubtless you have had the privilege also of seeing the holy Bishop
Laval?"
"Yes, madame, I have seen Bishop Laval."
"And I trust that the Sulpitians still hold their own against the
Jesuits?"
"I have heard, madame, that the Jesuits are the stronger at Quebec, and
the others at Montreal."
"And who is your own director, monsieur?"
De Catinat felt that the worst had come upon him. "I have none,
madame."
"Ah, it is too common to dispense with a director, and yet I know not
how I could guide my steps in the difficult path which I tread if it
were not for mine. Who is your confessor, then?"
"I have none. I am of the Reformed Church, madame."
The lady gave a gesture of horror, and a sudden hardening showed itself
in mouth and eye. "What, in the court itself," she cried, "and in the
neighbourhood of the king's own person!"
De Catinat was lax enough in matters of faith, and held his creed rather
as a family tradition than from any strong conviction, but it hurt his
self-esteem to see himself regarded as though he had confessed to
something that was loathsome and unclean. "You will find, madame," said
he sternly, "that members of my faith have not only stood around the
throne of France, but have even seated themselves upon it."
"God has for His own all-wise purposes permitted it, and none should
know it better than I, whose grandsire, Theodore d'Aubigny, did so much
to place a crown upon the head of the great Henry. But Henry's eyes
were opened ere his end came, and I pray--oh, from my heart I pray--that
yours may be also."
She rose, and throwing herself down upon the _prie-dieu_ sunk her face
in her hands for some few minutes, during which the object of her
devotions stood in some perplexity in the middle of the room, hardly
knowing whether such an attention should be regarded as an insult or as
a favour. A tap at the door brought the lady back to this world again,
and her devoted attendant answered her summons to enter.
"The king is in the Hall of Victories, madame," said she. "He will be
here in five minutes."
"Very well. Stand outside, and let me know when he comes. Now, sir,"
she continued, when they were alone once more, "you gave a note of mine
to the king this morning?"
"I did, madame."
"And, as I understand, Madame de Montespan was refused admittance to the
_grand lever_?"
"She was, madame."
"But she waited for the king in the passage?"
"She did."
"And wrung from him a promise that he would see her to-day?"
"Yes, madame."
"I would not have you tell me that which it may seem to you a breach of
your duty to tell. But I am fighting now against a terrible foe, and
for a great stake. Do you understand me?"
De Catinat bowed.
"Then what do I mean?"
"I presume that what madame means is that she is fighting for the king's
favour with the lady you mentioned."
"As heaven is my judge, I have no thought of myself. I am fighting with
the devil for the king's soul."
"'Tis the same thing, madame."
The lady smiled. "If the king's body were in peril, I could call on the
aid of his faithful guards, and not less so now, surely, when so much
more is at stake. Tell me, then, at what hour was the king to meet the
marquise in her room?"
"At four, madame."
"I thank you. You have done me a service, and I shall not forget it."
"The king comes, madame," said Mademoiselle Nanon, again protruding her
head.
"Then you must go, captain. Pass through the other room, and so into
the outer passage. And take this. It is Bossuet's statement of the
Catholic faith. It has softened the hearts of others, and may yours.
Now, adieu!"
De Catinat passed out through another door, and as he did so he glanced
back. The lady had her back to him, and her hand was raised to the
mantel-piece. At the instant that he looked she moved her neck, and he
could see what she was doing. She was pushing back the long hand of the
clock.