IN WHICH IT IS EXPLAINED WHY THE BARON DE TAVERNEY GREW FAT.
Meanwhile Philippe was hastening the preparations for his departure. He
did not wish to witness the dishonor of the queen, his first and only
passion. When all was ready, he requested an interview with his father.
For the last three months the baron had been growing fat; he seemed to
feed on the scandals circulating at the court—they were meat and drink
to him. When he received his son’s message, instead of sending for him,
he went to seek him in his room, already full of the disorder
consequent on packing. Philippe did not expect much sensibility from
his father, still he did not think he would be pleased. Andrée had
already left him, and it was one less to torment, and he must feel a
blank when his son went also. Therefore Philippe was astonished to hear
his father call out, with a burst of laughter, “Oh, mon Dieu! he is
going away, I was sure of it, I would have bet upon it. Well played,
Philippe, well played.”
“What is well played, sir?”
“Admirable!” repeated the old man.
“You give me praises, sir, which I neither understand nor merit, unless
you are pleased at my departure, and glad to get rid of me.”
“Oh! oh!” laughed the old man again, “I am not your dupe. Do you think
I believe in your departure?”
“You do not believe? really, sir, you surprise me.”
“Yes, it is surprising that I should have guessed. You are quite right
to pretend to leave; without this ruse all, probably, would have been
discovered.”
“Monsieur, I protest I do not understand one word of what you say to
me.”
“Where do you say you go to?”
“I go first to Taverney Maison Rouge.”
“Very well, but be prudent. There are sharp eyes on you both, and she
is so fiery and incautious, that you must be prudent for both. What is
your address, in case I want to send you any pressing news?”
“Taverney, monsieur.”
“Taverney, nonsense! I do not ask you for the address of your house in
the park; but choose some third address near here. You, who have
managed so well for your love, can easily manage this.”
“Sir, you play at enigmas, and I cannot find the solution.”
“Oh, you are discreet beyond all bounds. However, keep your secrets,
tell me nothing of the huntsman’s house, nor the nightly walks with two
dear friends, nor the rose, nor the kisses.”
“Monsieur!” cried Philippe, mad with jealousy and rage, “will you hold
your tongue?”
“Well, I know it all—your intimacy with the queen, and your meetings in
the baths of Apollo. Mon Dieu! our fortunes are assured forever.”
“Monsieur, you cause me horror!” cried poor Philippe, hiding his face
in his hands. And, indeed, he felt it, at hearing attributed to himself
all the happiness of another. All the rumors that the father had heard,
he had assigned to his son, and believed that it was he that the queen
loved, and no one else; hence his perfect contentment and happiness.
“Yes,” he went on, “some said it was Rohan; others, that it was Charny;
not one that it was Taverney. Oh, you have acted well.”
At this moment a carriage was heard to drive up, and a servant
entering, said, “Here is mademoiselle.”
“My sister!” cried Philippe.
Then another servant appeared, and said that Mademoiselle de Taverney
wished to speak to her brother in the boudoir. Another carriage now
came to the door.
“Who the devil comes now?” muttered the baron; “it is an evening of
adventures.”
“M. le Comte de Charny,” cried the powerful voice of the porter at the
gate.
“Conduct M. le Comte to the drawing-room; my father will see him; and I
will go to my sister—What can he want here?” thought Philippe, as he
went down.