LA PETITE MAISON.
We left Madame de la Motte at M. Mesmer’s door, watching the queen’s
carriage as it drove off. Then she went home; for she also intended to
put on a domino, and indulge herself by going to the Opera. But a
contretemps awaited her: a man was waiting at her door with a note from
the Cardinal de Rohan. She opened it, and read as follows:
“Madame la Comtesse, you have doubtless not forgotten that we have
business together; even if you have a short memory, I never forget what
has pleased me. I shall have the honor to wait for you where my
messenger will conduct you, if you please to come.”
Jeanne, although rather vexed, immediately reentered the coach, and
told the footman to get on the box with the coachman. Ten minutes
sufficed to bring her to the entrance of the Faubourg St. Antoine,
where, in a hollow and completely hidden by great trees, was one of
those pretty houses built in the time of Louis XV., with all the taste
of the sixteenth, with the comfort of the eighteenth, century.
“Oh, oh! a petite maison!” said she to herself. “It is very natural on
the part of M. de Rohan, but very humiliating for Valois. But,
patience.”
She was led from room to room till she came to a small dining-room,
fitted up with exquisite taste. There she found the cardinal waiting
for her. He was looking over some pamphlets, but rose immediately on
seeing her.
“Ah, here you are. Thanks, Madame la Comtesse,” and he approached to
kiss her hand; but she drew back with a reproachful and indignant air.
“What is the matter, madame?” he asked.
“You are, doubtless, not accustomed, monseigneur, to receive such a
greeting from the women whom your eminence is in the habit of summoning
here.”
“Oh! madame.”
“We are in your petite maison, are we not, sir?” continued she, looking
disdainfully around her.
“But, madame——”
“I had hoped that your eminence would have deigned to remember in what
rank I was born. I had hoped that you would have been pleased to
consider, that if God has made me poor, He has at least left me the
pride of my race.”
“Come, come, countess, I took you for a woman of intellect.”
“You call a woman of intellect, it appears, monseigneur, every one who
is indifferent to, and laughs at, everything, even dishonor. To these
women, pardon me, your eminence, I have been in the habit of giving a
different name.”
“No, countess, you deceive yourself; I call a woman of intellect one
who listens when you speak to her, and does not speak before having
listened.”
“I listen, then.”
“I had to speak to you of serious matters, countess.”
“Therefore you receive me in a dining-room.”
“Why, would you have preferred my receiving you in a boudoir?”
“The distinction is nice,” said she.
“I think so, countess.”
“Then I am simply to sup with you?”
“Nothing else.”
“I trust your eminence is persuaded that I feel the honor as I ought.”
“You are quizzing, countess.”
“No, I only laugh; would you rather I were angry? You are difficult to
please, monseigneur.”
“Oh; you are charming when you laugh, and I ask nothing better than to
see you always doing so; but at this moment you are not laughing; oh,
no! there is anger in that smile which shows your beautiful teeth.”
“Not the least in the world, monseigneur.”
“That is good.”
“And I hope you will sup well.”
“I shall sup well, and you?”
“Oh, I am not hungry.”
“How, madame, you refuse to sup with me—you send me away?”
“I do not understand you, monseigneur.”
“Listen, dear countess; if you were less in a passion, I would tell you
that it is useless to behave like this—you are always equally charming;
but as at each compliment I fear to be dismissed, I abstain.”
“You fear to be dismissed? Really, I beg pardon of your eminence, but
you become unintelligible.”
“It is, however, quite clear, what I say. The other day, when I came to
see you, you complained that you were lodged unsuitably to your rank. I
thought, therefore, that to restore you to your proper place would be
like restoring air to the bird whom the experimenter has placed under
his air-pump. Consequently, beautiful countess, that you might receive
me with pleasure, and that I, on my part, might visit you without
compromising either you or myself——” He stopped and looked at her.
“Well!” she said.
“I hoped that you would deign to accept this small residence; you
observe, I do not call it ‘petite maison.’”
“Accept! you give me this house, monseigneur?” said Jeanne, her heart
beating with eagerness.
“A very small gift, countess; but if I had offered you more, you would
have refused.”
“Oh, monseigneur, it is impossible for me to accept this.”
“Impossible, why? Do not say that word to me, for I do not believe in
it. The house belongs to you, the keys are here on this silver plate;
do you find out another humiliation in this?”
“No, but——”
“Then accept.”
“Monseigneur, I have told you.”
“How, madame? you write to the ministers for a pension, you accept a
hundred louis from an unknown lady——”
“Oh, monseigneur, it is different.”
“Come, I have waited for you in your dining-room. I have not yet seen
the boudoir, nor the drawing-room, nor the bedrooms, for I suppose
there are all these.”
“Oh, monseigneur, forgive me; you force me to confess that you the most
delicate of men,” and she blushed with the pleasure she had been so
long restraining. But checking herself, she sat down and said, “Now,
will your eminence give me my supper?”
The cardinal took off his cloak, and sat down also.
Supper was served in a few moments. Jeanne put on her mask before the
servants came in.
“It is I who ought to wear a mask,” said the cardinal, “for you are at
home, among your own people.”
Jeanne laughed, but did not take hers off. In spite of her pleasure and
surprise, she made a good supper. The cardinal was a man of much
talent, and from his great knowledge of the world and of women, he was
a man difficult to contend with, and he thought that this country girl,
full of pretension, but who, in spite of her pride, could not conceal
her greediness, would be an easy conquest, worth undertaking on account
of her beauty, and of a something piquant about her, very pleasing to a
man “blasé” like him. He therefore never took pains to be much on his
guard with her; and she, more cunning than he thought, saw through his
opinion of her, and tried to strengthen it by playing the provincial
coquette, and appearing silly, that her adversary might be in reality
weak in his over-confidence.
The cardinal thought her completely dazzled by the present he had made
her—and so, indeed, she was; but he forgot that he himself was below
the mark of the ambition of a woman like Jeanne.
“Come,” said he, pouring out for her a glass of cyprus wine, “as you
have signed your contract with me, you will not be unfriendly any more,
countess.”
“Oh no!”
“You will receive me here sometimes without repugnance?”
“I shall never be so ungrateful as to forget whose house this really
is.”
“Not mine.”
“Oh yes, monseigneur.”
“Do not contradict me, I advise you, or I shall begin to impose
conditions.”
“You take care on your part——”
“Of what?”
“Why, I am at home here, you know, and if your conditions are
unreasonable, I shall call my servants——”
The cardinal laughed.
“Ah, you laugh, sir; you think if I call they will not come.”
“Oh, you quite mistake, countess. I am nothing here, only your guest.
Apropos,” continued he, as if it had just entered his head, “have you
heard anything more of the ladies who came to see you?”
“The ladies of the portrait?” said Jeanne, who, now knowing the queen,
saw through the artifice.
“Yes, the ladies of the portrait.”
“Monseigneur, you know them as well and even better than I do, I feel
sure.”
“Oh, countess, you do me wrong. Did you not express a wish to learn who
they were?”
“Certainly; it is natural to desire to know your benefactors.”
“Well, if knew, I should have told you.”
“M. le Cardinal, you do know them.”
“No.”
“If you repeat that ‘no,’ I shall have to call you a liar.”
“I shall know how to avenge that insult.”
“How?”
“With a kiss.”
“You know the portrait of Maria Theresa?”
“Certainly, but what of that?”
“That, having recognized this portrait, you must have had some
suspicion of the person to whom it belonged.”
“And why?”
“Because it was natural to think that the portrait of a mother would
only be in the hands of her daughter.”
“The queen!” cried the cardinal, with so truthful a tone of surprise
that it duped even Jeanne. “Do you really think the queen came to see
you?”
“And you did not suspect it?”
“Mon Dieu, no! how should I? I, who speak to you, am neither son,
daughter, nor even relation of Maria Theresa, yet I have a portrait of
her about me at this moment. Look,” said he—and he drew out a snuff-box
and showed it to her; “therefore you see that if I, who am in no way
related to the imperial house, carry about such a portrait, another
might do the same, and yet be a stranger.”
Jeanne was silent—she had nothing to answer.
“Then it is your opinion,” he went on, “that you have had a visit from
the queen, Marie Antoinette.”
“The queen and another lady.”
“Madame de Polignac?”
“I do not know.”
“Perhaps Madame de Lamballe?”
“A young lady, very beautiful and very serious.”
“Oh, perhaps Mademoiselle de Taverney.”
“It is possible; I do not know her.”
“Well, if her majesty has really come to visit you, you are sure of her
protection. It is a great step towards your fortune.”
“I believe it, monseigneur.”
“And her majesty was generous to you?”
“She gave me a hundred louis.”
“And she is not rich, particularly now.”
“That doubles my gratitude.”
“Did she show much interest in you?”
“Very great.”
“Then all goes well,” said the prelate; “there only remains one thing
now—to penetrate to Versailles.”
The countess smiled.
“Ah, countess, it is not so easy.”
She smiled again, more significantly than before.
“Really, you provincials,” said he, “doubt nothing; because you have
seen Versailles with the doors open, and stairs to go up, you think any
one may open these doors and ascend these stairs. Have you seen the
monsters of brass, of marble, and of lead, which adorn the park and the
terraces?”
“Yes.”
“Griffins, gorgons, ghouls, and other ferocious beasts. Well, you will
find ten times as many, and more wicked, living animals between you and
the favor of sovereigns.”
“Your eminence will aid me to pass through the ranks of these
monsters.”
“I will try, but it will be difficult. And if you pronounce my name, if
you discover your talisman, it will lose all its power.”
“Happily, then, I am guarded by the immediate protection of the queen,
and I shall enter Versailles with a good key.”
“What key, countess?”
“Ah, Monsieur le Cardinal, that is my secret—or rather it is not, for
if it were mine, I should feel bound to tell it to my generous
protector.”
“There is, then, an obstacle, countess?”
“Alas! yes, monseigneur. It is not my secret, and I must keep it. Let
it suffice you to know that to-morrow I shall go to Versailles; that I
shall be received, and, I have every reason to hope, well received.”
The cardinal looked at her with wonder. “Ah, countess,” said he,
laughing, “I shall see if you will get in.”
“You will push your curiosity so far as to follow me?”
“Exactly.”
“Very well.”
“Really, countess, you are a living enigma.”
“One of those monsters who inhabit Versailles.”
“Oh, you believe me a man of taste, do you not?”
“Certainly, monseigneur.”
“Well, here I am at your knees, and I take your hand and kiss it.
Should I do that if I thought you a monster?”
“I beg you, sir, to remember,” said Jeanne coldly, “that I am neither a
grisette nor an opera girl; that I am my own mistress, feeling myself
the equal of any man in this kingdom. Therefore I shall take freely and
spontaneously, when it shall please me, the man who will have gained my
affections. Therefore, monseigneur, respect me a little, and, in me,
the nobility to which we both belong.”
The cardinal rose. “I see,” said he, “you wish me to love you
seriously.”
“I do not say that; but I wish to be able to love you. When that day
comes—if it does comes—you will easily find it out, believe me. If you
do not, I will let you know it; for I feel young enough and attractive
enough not to mind making the first advances, nor to fear a repulse.”
“Countess, if it depends upon me, you shall love me.”
“We shall see.”
“You have already a friendship for me, have you not?”
“More than that.”
“Oh! then we are at least half way. And you are a woman that I should
adore, if——” He stopped and sighed.
“Well,” said she, “if——”
“If you would permit it.”
“Perhaps I shall, when I shall be independent of your assistance, and
you can no longer suspect that I encourage you from interested
motives.”
“Then you forbid me to pay my court now?”
“Not at all; but there are other ways besides kneeling and kissing
hands.”
“Well, countess, let us hear; what will you permit?”
“All that is compatible with my tastes and duties.”
“Oh, that is vague indeed.”
“Stop! I was going to add—my caprices.”
“I am lost!”
“You draw back?”
“No,” said the cardinal, “I do not.”
“Well, then, I want a proof.”
“Speak.”
“I want to go to the ball at the Opera.”
“Well, countess, that only concerns yourself. Are you not free as air
to go where you wish?”
“Ah, but you have not heard all. I want you to go with me.”
“I to the Opera, countess!” said he, with a start of horror.
“See already how much your desire to please me is worth.”
“A cardinal cannot go to a ball at the Opera, countess. It is as if I
proposed to you to go into a public-house.”
“Then a cardinal does not dance, I suppose?”
“Oh no!”
“But I have read that M. le Cardinal de Richelieu danced a saraband.”
“Yes, before Anne of Austria.”
“Before a queen,” repeated Jeanne. “Perhaps you would do as much for a
queen?”
The cardinal could not help blushing, dissembler as he was.
“Is it not natural,” she continued, “that I should feel hurt when,
after all your protestations, you will not do as much for me as you
would for a queen?—especially when I only ask you to go concealed in a
domino and a mask; besides, a man like you, who may do anything with
impunity!”
The cardinal yielded to her flattery and her blandishments. Taking her
hand, he said, “For you I will do anything, even the impossible.”
“Thanks, monseigneur; you are really amiable. But now you have
consented, I will let you off.”
“No, no! he who does the work can alone claim the reward. Countess, I
will attend you, but in a domino.”
“We shall pass through the Rue St. Denis, close to the Opera,” said the
countess. “I will go in masked, buy a domino and a mask for you, and
you can put them on in the carriage.”
“That will do delightfully.”
“Oh, monseigneur, you are very good! But, now I think of it, perhaps at
the Hôtel Rohan you might find a domino more to your taste than the one
I should buy.”
“Now, countess, that is unpardonable malice. Believe me if I go to the
Opera, I shall be as surprised to find myself there as you were to find
yourself supping tête-à-tête with a man not your husband.”
Jeanne had nothing to reply to this. Soon a carriage without arms drove
up; they both got in, and drove off at a rapid pace.