THE CARDINAL DE ROHAN.
The next evening Jeanne, not discouraged, renewed all her preparations
of the night before; and on this occasion she had no time to grow
impatient, for at seven o’clock a carriage drove up to the door, from
which a gentleman got out. At the sound of the door-bell Jeanne’s heart
beat so loud that you might almost have heard it; however, she composed
herself as well as she could, and in a few minutes Clotilde opened the
door, and announced the person who had written the day before
yesterday.
“Let him come in,” said Jeanne; and a gentleman dressed in silk and
velvet, and with a lofty carriage, entered the room.
Jeanne made a step forward, and said: “To whom have I the honor of
speaking?”
“I am the Cardinal de Rohan,” he replied; at which Madame de la Motte,
feigning to be overwhelmed with the honor, courtesied, as though he
were a king. Then she advanced an armchair for him, and placed herself
in another.
The cardinal laid his hat on the table, and, looking at Jeanne, began:
“It is, then, true, mademoiselle——”
“Madame,” interrupted Jeanne.
“Pardon me; I forgot.”
“My husband is called De la Motte, monseigneur.”
“Oh, yes; a gendarme, is he not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you, madame, are a Valois?”
“I am, monseigneur.”
“A great name,” said the cardinal, “but rare—believed extinct.”
“Not extinct, sir, since I bear it, and as I have a brother, Baron de
Valois.”
“Recognized?”
“That has nothing to do with it. Recognized or unrecognized, rich or
poor, he is still Baron de Valois.”
“Madame, explain to me this descent; it interests me; I love heraldry.”
Jeanne repeated all that the reader already knows.
The cardinal listened and looked. He did not believe either her story
or her merit; but she was poor and pretty.
“So that,” he said carelessly, when she had finished, “you have really
been unfortunate.”
“I do not complain, monseigneur.”
“Indeed, I had heard a most exaggerated account of the difficulties of
your position; this lodging is commodious and well furnished.”
“For a grisette, no doubt,” replied Jeanne.
“What! do you call these rooms fit for a grisette?”
“I do not think you can call them fit for a princess,” replied Jeanne.
“And you are a princess?” said he, in an ironical tone.
“I was born a Valois, monseigneur, as you were a Rohan,” said Jeanne,
with so much dignity that he felt a little touched by it.
“Madame,” said he, “I forgot that my first words should have been an
apology. I wrote to you that I would come yesterday, but I had to go to
Versailles to assist at the reception of M. de Suffren.”
“Monseigneur does me too much honor in remembering me to-day; and my
husband will more than ever regret the exile to which poverty compels
him, since it prevents him from sharing this favor with me.”
“You live alone, madame?” asked the cardinal.
“Absolutely alone. I should be out of place in all society but that
from which my poverty debars me.”
“The genealogists do not contest your claim?”
“No; but what good does it do me?”
“Madame,” continued the cardinal, “I shall be glad to know in what I
can serve you.”
“In nothing, monseigneur,” she said.
“How! in nothing? Pray be frank.”
“I cannot be more frank than I am.”
“You were complaining just now.”
“Certainly, I complain.”
“Well, then?”
“Well, then, monseigneur, I see that you wish to bestow charity on me.”
“Oh, madame!”
“Yes, sir, I have taken charity, but I will do so no more. I have borne
great humiliation.”
“Madame, you are wrong, there is no humiliation in misfortune.”
“Not even with the name I bear? Would you beg, M. de Rohan?”
“I do not speak of myself,” said he, with an embarrassment mingled with
hauteur.
“Monseigneur, I only know two ways of begging: in a carriage, or at a
church door in velvet or in rags. Well, just now, I did not expect the
honor of this visit; I thought you had forgotten me.”
“Oh, you knew, then, that it was I who wrote?”
“Were not your arms on the seal?”
“However, you feigned not to know me.”
“Because you did not do me the honor to announce yourself.”
“This pride pleases me,” said the cardinal.
“I had then,” continued Jeanne, “despairing of seeing you, taken the
resolution of throwing off all this flimsy parade, which covers my real
poverty, and of going in rags, like other mendicants, to beg my bread
from the passers-by.”
“You are not at the end of your resources, I trust, madame?”
Jeanne did not reply.
“You have some property, even if it be mortgaged? Some family jewels?
This, for example,” and he pointed to a box, with which the delicate
fingers of the lady had been playing. “A singular box, upon my word!
Will you permit me to look? Oh, a portrait!” he continued, with a look
of great surprise. “Do you know the original of this portrait?” asked
Jeanne.
“It is that of Maria Theresa.”
“Of Maria Theresa?”
“Yes, the Empress of Austria.”
“Really!” cried Jeanne. “Are you sure, monseigneur?”
“Where did you get it?” he asked.
“From a lady who came the day before yesterday.”
“To see you?”
“Yes.”
The cardinal examined the box with minute attention.
“There were two ladies,” continued Jeanne.
“And one of them gave you this box?” said he, with evident suspicion.
“No; she dropped it here.”
The cardinal remained thoughtful for some time, and then said, “What
was the name of this lady? I beg pardon for being inquisitive.”
“Indeed, it is a somewhat strange question.”
“Indiscreet, perhaps, but not strange.”
“Yes, very strange; for if I had known her name, I should have returned
it long before this.”
“Then, you know not who she is?”
“I only know she is the head of some charitable house.”
“In Paris?”
“No; in Versailles.”
“From Versailles; the head of a charitable house!”
“Monseigneur, I accept charity from ladies; that does not so much
humiliate a poor woman; and this lady, who had heard of my wants, left
a hundred louis on my table when she went away.”
“A hundred louis!” said the cardinal in surprise; then, fearing to
offend, he added, “I am not astonished, madame, that they should give
you such a sum. You merit, on the contrary, all the solicitude of
charitable people, and your name makes it a duty to help you. It is
only the title of the Sister of Charity that surprised me, they are not
in the habit of giving such donations. Could you describe this lady to
me?”
“Not easily, sir.”
“How so, since she came here?”
“Yes, but she probably did not wish to be recognized, for she hid her
face as much as possible in her hood, and was besides, enveloped in
furs.”
“Well, but you saw something?”
“My impressions were, that she had blue eyes, and a small mouth, though
the lips were rather thick.”
“Tall or short?”
“Of middle height.”
“Her hands?”
“Perfect.”
“Her throat?”
“Long and slender.”
“Her expression?”
“Severe and noble. But you, perhaps, know this lady, monseigneur?”
“Why should you think so, madame?”
“From the manner in which you question me; besides, there is a sympathy
between the doers of good works.”
“No, madame, I do not know her.”
“But, sir, if you had some suspicion.”
“How should I?”
“Oh, from this portrait, perhaps.”
“Yes, certainly, the portrait,” said the cardinal, rather uneasily.
“Well, sir, this portrait you still believe to be that of Maria
Theresa?”
“I believe so, certainly.”
“Then you think——?”
“That you have received a visit from some German lady who has founded
one of these houses!” But it was evident that the cardinal doubted, and
he was pondering how this box, which he had seen a hundred times in the
hands of the queen, came into the possession of this woman. Had the
queen really been to see her? If she had been, was she indeed unknown
to Jeanne? Or, if not, why did she try to hide the knowledge from him.
If the queen had really been there, it was no longer a poor woman he
had to deal with, but a princess succored by a queen, who bestowed her
gifts in person.
Jeanne saw that the cardinal was thoughtful, and even suspicious of
her. She felt uneasy, and knew not what to say.
At last, however, he broke the silence by saying, “And the other lady?”
“Oh, I could see her perfectly; she is tall and beautiful, with a
determined expression, and a brilliant complexion.”
“And the other lady did not name her?”
“Yes, once; but by her Christian name.”
“What was it?”
“Andrée.”
“Andrée!” repeated the cardinal, with a start.
This name put an end to all his doubts. It was known that the queen had
gone to Paris on that day with Mademoiselle de Taverney. It was
evident, also, that Jeanne had no intention of deceiving him; she was
telling all she knew. Still, he would try one more proof.
“Countess,” he said, “one thing astonishes me, that you have not
addressed yourself to the king.”
“But, sir, I have sent him twenty petitions.”
“Without result?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, the princes of the blood; M. le Duc d’Orleans is
charitable, and often likes to do what the king refuses.”
“I have tried him, equally fruitlessly.”
“That astonishes me.”
“Oh, when one is poor, and not supported by any one——”
“There is still the Comte d’Artois; sometimes dissipated men do more
generous actions than charitable ones.”
“It is the same story with him.”
“But the princesses, the aunts of the king, Madame Elizabeth
particularly, would refuse assistance to no one.”
“It is true, monseigneur, her royal highness, to whom I wrote, promised
to receive me; but, I know not why, after having received my husband, I
could never get any more notice from her.”
“It is strange, certainly,” said the cardinal; then, as if the thought
had just struck him, he cried, “Ah! mon Dieu! but we are forgetting the
person to whom you should have addressed yourself first of all.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“To the dispenser of all favors, she who never refuses help where it is
deserved—to the queen. Have you seen her?”
“No,” answered Jeanne.
“You have never presented your petition to the queen?”
“Never.”
“You have not tried to obtain an audience of her?”
“I have tried, but failed.”
“Have you tried to throw yourself in her way, that she might remark
you?”
“No, monseigneur.”
“But that is very strange.”
“I have only been twice to Versailles, and then saw but two persons
there; one was Doctor Louis, who had attended my poor father at the
Hôtel Dieu, and the other was M. le Baron de Taverney, to whom I had an
introduction.”
“What did M. de Taverney say to you? He might have brought you to the
queen.”
“He told me that I was very foolish to bring forward as a claim to the
benevolence of the king a relationship which would be sure to displease
him, as nobody likes poor relations.”
“I recognize the egotistical and rude old baron. Well,” continued he,
“I will conduct you myself to Versailles, and will open the doors for
you.”
“Oh, monseigneur, how good you are,” cried Jeanne, overwhelmed with
joy.
The cardinal approached her, and said, “It is impossible but that
before long all must interest themselves in you.”
“Alas! monseigneur,” said Jeanne, with a sigh, “do you think so?”
“I am sure of it.”
“I fear you flatter me,” she said, looking earnestly at him, for she
could hardly believe in his sudden change of manner, he had been so
cold and suspicious at first.
This look had no small effect on the cardinal; he began to think he had
never met a woman prettier or more attractive. “Ah, ma foi!” said he to
himself, with the eternally scheming spirit of a man used to diplomacy,
“it would be too extraordinary and too fortunate if I have met at once
an honest woman with the attractions of a scheming one, and found in
this poverty an able coadjutrix to my desires.”
“Monseigneur, the silence you keep every now and then disquiets me.”
“Why so, countess?”
“Because a man like you only fails in politeness to two kinds of
women.”
“Mon Dieu! countess, you frighten me. What are you about to say?” and
he took her hand.
“I repeat it,” said she, “with women that you love too much, or with
women whom you do not esteem enough to be polite to.”
“Countess, you make me blush. Have I, then, failed in politeness
towards you?”
“Rather so, monseigneur; and yet you cannot love me too much, and I
have given you no cause to despise me.”
“Oh, countess, you speak as if you were angry with me.”
“No, monseigneur; you have not yet merited my anger.”
“And I never will, madame. From this day, in which I have had the
pleasure of making your acquaintance, my solicitude for you will not
cease.”
“Oh, sir, do not speak to me of your protection.”
“Oh, mon Dieu! I should humiliate myself, not you, in mentioning such a
thing;” and he pressed her hand, which he continued to hold, to his
lips.
She tried to withdraw it; but he said, “Only politeness, madame,” and
she let it remain.
“To know,” said she, “that I shall occupy a place, however small, in
the mind of a man so eminent and so busy, would console me for a year.”
“Let us hope the consolation will last longer than that, countess.”
“Well, perhaps so, monseigneur; I have confidence in you, because I
feel that you are capable of appreciating a mind like mine,
adventurous, brave, and pure, in spite of my poverty, and of the
enemies which my position has made me. Your eminence will, I am sure,
discover all the good that is in me, and be indulgent to all the rest.”
“We, are, then, warm friends, madame;” and he advanced towards her, but
his arms were a little more extended than the occasion required. She
avoided him, and said, laughing:
“It must be a friendship among three, cardinal.”
“Among three?”
“Doubtless, for there exists an exile, a poor gendarme, who is called
M. de la Motte.”
“Oh, countess, what a deplorably good memory you have!”
“I must speak to you of him, that you may not forget him.”
“Do you know why I do not speak of him, countess?”
“No; pray tell me.”
“Because he will speak enough for himself: husbands never let
themselves be forgotten. We shall hear that M. le Comte de la Motte
found it good, or found it bad, that the Cardinal de Rohan came two,
three, or four times a week to visit his wife.”
“Ah! but will you come so often, monseigneur?”
“Without that, where would be our friendship? Four times! I should have
said six or seven.”
Jeanne laughed, “I should not indeed wonder in that case if people did
talk of it.”
“Oh! but we can easily prevent them.”
“How?”
“Quite easily. The people know me——”
“Certainly, monseigneur.”
“But you they have the misfortune not to know.”
“Well?”
“Therefore, if you would——”
“What, sir?”
“Come out instead of me.”
“Come to your hotel, monseigneur?”
“You would go to see a minister.”
“Oh! a minister is not a man.”
“You are adorable, countess. But I did not speak of my hotel; I have a
house——”
“Oh! a petite maison?”
“No; a house of yours.”
“A house of mine, cardinal! Indeed, I did not know it.”
“To-morrow, at ten o’clock, you shall have the address.”
The countess blushed; the cardinal took her hand again, and imprinted
another kiss upon it, at once bold, respectful, and tender. They then
bowed to each other.
“Light monseigneur down,” said the countess; and he went away.
“Well,” thought she, “I have made a great step in the world.”
“Come,” said the cardinal to himself as he drove off, “I think I have
killed two birds with one stone; this woman has too much talent not to
catch the queen as she has caught me?”