THE HEAD OF THE TAVERNEY FAMILY.
While this was passing in the Rue St. Gilles, the elder M. Taverney was
walking in his garden, followed by two footmen, who carried a chair,
with which they approached him every five minutes, that he might rest.
While doing so, a servant came to announce the chevalier.
“My son,” said the old man, “come, Philippe, you arrive àpropos—my
heart is full of happy thoughts; but how solemn you look!”
“Do I, sir?”
“You know already the results of that affair?”
“What affair?”
The old man looked to see that no one was listening, then said, “I
speak of the ball.”
“I do not understand.”
“Oh, the ball at the Opera.”
Philippe colored.
“Sit down,” continued his father; “I want to talk to you. It seems that
you, so timid and delicate at first, now compromise her too much.”
“Whom do you mean, sir?”
“Pardieu! do you think I am ignorant of your escapade, both together at
the Opera ball? It was pretty.”
“Sir, I protest——”
“Oh, do not be angry; I only mean to warn you for your good. You are
not careful enough; you were seen there with her.”
“I was seen?”
“Pardieu! had you, or not, a blue domino?”
Philippe was about to explain that he had not, and did not know what
his father meant, but he thought to himself, “It is of no use to
explain to him; he never believes me. Besides, I wish to learn more.”
“You see,” continued the old man, triumphantly, “you were recognized.
Indeed, M. de Richelieu, who was at the ball in spite of his
eighty-four years, wondered who the blue domino could be with whom the
queen was walking, and he could only suspect you, for he knew all the
others.”
“And pray how does he say he recognized the queen?”
“Not very difficult, when she took her mask off. Such audacity as that
surpasses all imagination; she must really be mad about you. But take
care, chevalier; you have jealous rivals to fear; it is an envied post
to be favorite of the queen, when the queen is the real king. Pardon my
moralizing, but I do not wish that the breath of chance should blow
down what you have reared so skilfully.”
Philippe rose; the conversation was hateful to him, but a kind of
savage curiosity impelled him to hear everything.
“We are already envied,” continued the old man; “that is natural, but
we have not yet attained the height to which we shall rise. To you will
belong the glory of raising our name; and now you are progressing so
well, only be prudent, or you will fail after all. Soon, however, you
must ask for some high post, and obtain for me a lord-lieutenancy not
too far from Paris. Then you can have a peerage, and become a duke and
lieutenant-general. In two years, if I am still alive——”
“Enough, enough!” groaned Philippe.
“Oh, if you are satisfied with that, I am not. You have a whole life
before you; I, perhaps, only a few months. However, I do not complain;
God gave me two children, and if my daughter has been useless in
repairing our fortunes, you will make up for it. I see in you the great
Taverney, and you inspire me with respect, for your conduct has been
admirable; you show no jealousy, but leave the field apparently open to
every one, while you really hold it alone.”
“I do not understand you,” replied Philippe.
“Oh, no modesty; it was exactly the conduct of M. Potemkin, who
astonished the world with his fortunes. He saw that Catherine loved
variety in her amours; that, if left free, she would fly from flower to
flower, returning always to the sweetest and most beautiful; but that,
if pursued, she would fly right away. He took his part, therefore; he
even introduced new favorites to his sovereign, to weary her out with
their number; but through and after the quickly succeeding reigns of
the twelve Cæsars, as they were ironically called, Potemkin in reality
was supreme.”
“What incomprehensible infamies!” murmured poor Philippe. But the old
man went on:
“According to his system, however, you have been still a little wrong.
He never abandoned his surveillance, and you are too lax in this.”
Philippe replied only by shrugging his shoulders. He really began to
think his father was crazy.
“Ah! you thought I did not see your game. You are already providing a
successor, for you have divined that there is no stability in the
queen’s amours, and in the event of her changing, you wish not to be
quite thrown aside; therefore you make friends with M. de Charny, who
might otherwise, when his turn comes, exile you, as you now might MM.
de Coigny, Vaudreuil, and others.”
Philippe, with an angry flush, said:
“Once more, enough; I am ashamed to have listened so long. Those who
say that the Queen of France is a Messalina are criminal calumniators.”
“I tell you,” said the old man, “no one can hear, and I approve your
plan. M. de Charny will repay your kindness some day.”
“Your logic is admirable, sir; and M. de Charny is so much my favorite
that I have just passed my sword through his ribs.”
“What!” cried the old man, somewhat frightened at his son’s flashing
eyes, “you have not been fighting?”
“Yes, sir; that is my method of conciliating my successors. And he
turned to go away.
“Philippe, you jest.”
“I do not, sir.”
The old man rose, and tottered off to the house.
“Quick,” said he to the servant; “let a man on horseback go at once and
ask after M. de Charny, who has been wounded, and let him be sure to
say he comes from me.” Then he murmured to himself, “Mine is still the
only head in the family.”