THE ONE HUNDRED LOUIS OF THE QUEEN.
Now we have introduced the principal characters of this history to our
readers, and have taken them both into the “petite maison” of the Comte
d’Artois and into the king’s palace at Versailles, we will return to
that house in the Rue St. Claude where we saw the queen enter incognito
with Mademoiselle Andrée de Taverney.
We left Madame de la Motte counting over and delighted with her fifty
double louis; next to the pleasure of having them, she knew no greater
than that of displaying them, and having no one else, she called Dame
Clotilde, who was still in the ante-chamber.
When she entered, “Come and look here!” said her mistress.
“Oh, madame!” cried the old woman, clasping her hands in astonishment.
“You were uneasy about your wages,” said the countess.
“Oh, madame! I never said that; I only asked madame if she could pay
me, as I had received nothing for three months.”
“Do you think there is enough there to pay you?”
“Oh! madame, if I had all that, I should be rich for the rest of my
life. But in what will madame spend all that?”
“In everything.”
“The first thing, I think, madame, will be to furnish the kitchen, for
you will have good dinners cooked now.”
“Listen!” said Madame de la Motte; “someone knocks.”
“I did not hear it,” said the old woman.
“But I tell you that I did; so go at once.” She hastily gathered up her
money, and put it into a drawer, murmuring, “Oh! if Providence will but
send me another such a visitor.” Then she heard the steps of a man
below, but could not distinguish what he said. Soon however, the door
opened, and Clotilde came in with a letter.
The countess examined it attentively, and asked, “Was this brought by a
servant?”
“Yes, madame.”
“In livery?”
“No, madame.”
“I know these arms, surely,” said Jeanne to herself. “Who can it be
from? but the letter will soon show for itself;” and opening it, she
read: “Madame, the person to whom you wrote will see you to-morrow
evening, if it be agreeable to you to remain at home for that purpose;”
and that was all. “I have written to so many people,” thought the
countess. “Is this a man or a woman? The writing is no guide, nor is
the style; it might come from either. Who is it that uses these arms?
Oh! I remember now—the arms of the Rohans. Yes, I wrote to M. de
Guémenée, and to M. de Rohan; it is one of them: but the shield is not
quartered—it is therefore the cardinal. Ah! Monsieur de Rohan, the man
of gallantry, the fine gentleman, and the ambitious one; he will come
to see Jeanne de la Motte, if it be agreeable to her. Oh, yes! M. de
Rohan, it is very agreeable. A charitable lady who gives a hundred
louis may be received in a garret, freeze in my cold room, and suffer
on my hard chair; but a clerical prince, a lady’s man, that is quite
another thing. We must have luxury to greet him.”
Then, turning to Clotilde, who was getting her bed ready, she said: “Be
sure to call me early to-morrow morning;” and when she did retire to
rest, so absorbed was she in her expectations and plans, that it was
nearly three o’clock before she fell asleep; nevertheless, she was
quite ready when Dame Clotilde called her according to her directions
early in the morning, and had finished her toilet by eight o’clock,
although this day it consisted of an elegant silk dress, and her hair
was elaborately dressed.
She sent Clotilde for a coach, and ordered the man to drive to the
Place Royale, where, under one of the arcades, was the shop of M.
Fingret, an upholsterer and decorator, and who had furniture always
ready for sale or hire.
She entered his immense show-rooms, of which the walls were hung with
different tapestries, and the ceiling completely hidden by the number
of chandeliers and lamps that hung from it. On the ground were
furniture, carpets, and cornices of every fashion and description.