LA VALENTINOIS AND I
Monsieur de Créquy, his back to the light, stood in the embrasure of a
window, deeply engaged in examining his features in a small hand-glass
which he held daintily before him. The survey seemed to please
monsieur, for he showed his teeth in a simper of satisfaction, and
began to curl his black moustache between the forefinger and thumb of
his disengaged hand. So engrossed was he that he never observed me
coming up to him, and it was not until I was at his elbow that he
suddenly realised my presence.
"_Morbleu_!" and he hastily slipped the glass in his pocket, "wherever
did you spring from?"
"Not through the window, I assure you. I but came in the ordinary way.
Madame, I suppose, is within?" And I pointed to a closed door in front
of us.
Créquy nodded. "Yes; reposing after the fatigues of the day, and will
have none but a Chevalier of the Order to guard the entrance to her
bower. What a day it has been! I suppose you know it will be on
Saturday?"
I could have struck the coxcomb; but held myself in, and asked to see
La Valentinois, adding that my affair was of vital import. At this
Créquy began to hum and haw, and I had to humour him, telling him that
madame would give him but small thanks for denying me, as my business
concerned what was to happen on Saturday.
"That is a different matter," he said. "I will see." And he tapped at
the door. There was no answer; thereupon Créquy gently opened the door
and stepped in. He came out again almost immediately.
"As I said, madame is reposing; but I have told the Syrian. Would you
like to wait here?"
"Perhaps I had better get my business over as soon as possible, and
save the Syrian the trouble of coming to the outer door," I said. At
which Créquy shrugged his shoulders, and pointing to the door with a
mock bow bade me enter.
I did as I was bidden, and found myself in a long and narrow room. The
ceiling, painted to represent the sky lit up by the crescent moon, was
supported by eight arabesque pillars, four on either hand. Around the
bases of the pillars, and scattered here and there over the rich
carpet, were seats made of huge soft cushions, covered with matchless
embroidery. Near one of these luxurious seats was a low carved table
upon which lay an open volume of Ronsard's poems, and close by it,
thrown carelessly on the carpet, was a lute with a cluster of streaming
ribbons, and a black and white satin sling attached to it. Behind this
stood a carved ebony _prie-dieu_, and above the crucifix that
surmounted it hung a shield surrounded by a wreath of flowers, and
bearing upon it a tree springing out of a tomb, with the legend: "Left
alone--I live in thee," upon a scroll beneath. This was the strange
manner in which Diane de Poitiers kept the memory of her dead husband
green--for she ever posed as the inconsolable widow, carrying her
husband's soul about with her, packed in straw, like her Venetian
crystal goblets and eastern pottery. In the centre of the room, upon a
veined marble pedestal, stood, in strange incongruity, a replica of the
great bronze of Goujou, that faced her chateau of Anet. In this Diane
was represented nude, reclining upon a stag, a bow in her hand, and
surrounded by dogs.
Owing to the heat of the day the windows were open; but the curtains of
pale blue silk, with silver crescents gleaming on them, were drawn to
keep out the afternoon glare; and the subdued, opal-tinted light fell
softly on this bower of luxury, which was, however, likely to prove the
den of a tigress to me.
The room was empty when I entered, and after looking around me I picked
up the volume of Ronsard. It was open at his ode to La Valentinois:
"Seray-je seul, vivant en France de vostre age,
Sans chanter vostre nom, si criant et si puissant?
Diray-je point l'honneur de vostre beau croissant?
Feray-je point pour vous quelque immortel ouvrage?"
So far I read, and then flung the book with its fulsome verses down on
the cushions. As I did this, I heard a little burst of laughter,
followed by the harsh, chuckling scream of a parrot, and then a voice:
"Here! Vert-Vert! Here! To my shoulder!"
I stepped back behind a pillar, the curtains covering a door leading
into an inner apartment were set aside, and La Valentinois entered,
bearing on her left shoulder a large green parrot, whose plumage she
caressed with her right hand. She was clad in a loose robe of some
soft, clinging material that shimmered like cloth of gold. It was
fastened at her throat by a jewelled star, and a golden zone clasped
her waist. Her abundant hair hung loose in black, curling masses, and
her little feet were thrust into gemmed and embroidered slippers.
Madame had apparently come forth in some haste I could see.
"Orrain," she said, her face half turned from me, for she was looking
at her bird, "whatever brings you here? Is it anything from Sire
Grosse-Tête?" And then an exclamation broke from her, and she stopped
short, for she saw me.
"You!" she said. "I thought it was the Vidame d'Orrain."
"A mistake, madame, in announcing me, perhaps, which I regard as the
most fortunate in my life." And I bowed before her.
So bad, so worthless was this woman, that she utterly mistook my speech.
"True! Leila said Monsieur d'Orrain--but I thought it was your
brother."
I made no answer, and she glanced at me, the colour rising to her
cheeks, and a smile on her lips, as she went on:
"'Tis a thousand pities, Monsieur le Chevalier, that you have taken the
wrong side; and by rights I should strike that gong there and call my
guards, for you are dangerous, they say; but," and she sank
languorously down in the cushions, her pet now on her wrist, "'tis a
warm day, and I feel bored. Do I not, Vert-Vert? Perhaps monsieur
here will amuse me." And she stroked the feathers of the bird, and
bending down kissed it.
"Madame," I began; but she glanced up, and stayed me with a laugh.
"What a voice! As severe as my dear De Mouchy's when he delivers a
judgment; but, Chevalier, Leila, my Syrian maid, always tells me 'tis
easier to sit than to stand, and there is room on these
cushions--come!" And stretching out a shapely white arm she let it
rest on the amber-hued silk of the cushions by her side.
As I gazed on the temptress lying at my feet the thought came to me to
slay her in her sin; and perhaps she saw the sombre light in my eyes,
and read my heart, for she drew her arm back swiftly, and half rose;
but mastering myself I gave her her chance.
"Madame, I have come to beg your mercy----"
"You!" And she sank back again on her cushions.
"Yes, madame! I have come to ask for a life."
"Not yours, surely? It never was Orrain's way." And she smiled.
"Ay; it is my life ten times over, as well as another's; but you know
whom I mean, madame! She is innocent, and a word from you will save
her."
"Oh, monsieur, you overrate my power! And this is not amusing. It is
too hot to talk of such things."
"Madame, be merciful! Spare her! She never harmed you."
"What!" And tossing the bird from her she rose to her feet, lithe as a
pantheress. So perfectly was she formed that one did not realise how
tall she was until she came near; and she was close enough to me now,
her eyes flashing with a hundred evil, angry lights.
"She never harmed me? Never hurt me? She! That white-faced
provincial, with her airs of virtue, who tried to shame me in public!
Look you, I hate that woman! Do you hear? I hate her--hate her! If
by the lifting of my little finger I could save her, do you think I
would? Never! Let her die! And she shall die, as Philippine de Lune
did----"
"Madame!"
"And you!" she burst in, "insolent that you are!--you! who have dared
to come here! Think you that you will go free?"
"Enough, madame! I no longer appeal to your pity."
She had half turned from me, and made a step towards the gong as if to
strike it, but faced back like lightning, womanlike determined to have
the last word.
"_Mon Dieu_! but this surpasses all."
"Not in the least! I begged for your mercy at first; now I bring to
you the Queen's commands."
She almost gasped, and then laughed out loudly. "The Queen's
commands--the commands of Madame Grosse-Tête to me! Ha! ha! ha! I
took you for an insolent fool; but you are mad, monsieur, mad!"
For answer I held out to her one of her letters to De Ganache.
"The Queen desires you to see this, madame. It is your own writing to
a man you have killed, body and soul--and there are many others like
this--so it would be useless to destroy it. Read it!"
She stared at me for an instant in blank amaze, and then snatched the
paper from me, her face white, her hands trembling. One glance at it,
and she burst out:
"This is a forgery! A base forgery!" And then I laughed, for there
would now be no mercy shown towards this she-wolf.
"There is no forgery there! And there are other proofs. What think
you that your Syrian go-between will say when put to the question?
What of your glovemaker Camus, and the house in the Rue des
Lavandières? Madame, you are alone here but for a half score of your
archers and that fool Créquy. Think you that with such proofs in her
hand the Queen would hesitate even to arrest you?"
"Arrest me!" she stammered.
"Yes! There are charges enough. What think you that the
King--Monsieur Grosse-Tête as you call him--will say when he sees these
letters, and hears of the triangle, and learns that all France, and all
Europe, will know his shame, and of the infamous grant you cajoled him
into giving you?"
She shivered and looked around her as I went on coldly:
"Call your guards if you will; but I swear to you that if you do within
the hour you will fall so low that the very women of the Marais and the
Temple would pity you!"
"My God!" And with a shudder she put her hands to her face, and the
letter fluttered down to the carpet. Stooping, I picked it up, and
continued: "The Queen, however, is more merciful than you, and even you
have your uses, madame, so that her Majesty will overlook your crimes,
upon a condition." And I stopped.
For a space she stood in silence, her head bowed, and her face covered.
At last she slowly put down her hands, and looked at me. Such a look!
"What is your condition?"
"It is not mine. I begged for your pity, and you denied me. This is
the mercy of the Queen to you--the mercy of the woman you have wronged."
"Enough of that! What are the terms? Am I to be kept here waiting for
ever?"
"Simply that Mademoiselle de Paradis is restored to the Queen unhurt,
and fully pardoned, within twenty-four hours."
She bit her under lip till her white teeth left a vivid mark on it as I
spoke, and then with an outbreak of wolfish fury:
"I will not! I will not!" And she stamped her foot. "She shall
die--whatever happens--do you hear?"
"Perfectly! And in half an hour, I promise you, you will be arrested,
and the story of your shame known to all. Do you think women like you
have an empire that lasts for ever? You should take a lesson from the
past, madame. Once the King's eyes are opened, and they will be in
twelve hours, you will stand alone. But you have made your choice, and
I will take your answer to the Queen."
With that I bowed, and made for the door. Ere I had gone half the
length of the room, however, she called me back.
"Stay!"
I turned slowly, and faced her once more.
"Is it any use? You have answered me."
"No; I have not." Her voice was half strangled, and there were tears
of anger and mortification in her eyes. "No; I have not," she
repeated; and then gasped out: "I will do what you wish; but I want
those letters back."
"That rests with the Queen. She makes no terms with you, and in that
you must throw yourself on her pity."
With a low cry she suddenly flung herself down on the cushions, biting
at them in impotent fury with her strong white teeth and tearing at the
embroidery with her fingers. It was the fury of despair. It was the
senseless rage of an animal, and I stood and watched, feeling that a
desperate game was won, and almost pitying her, murderess, and worse,
though she was.
After a while she looked up at me, her face haggard, her eyes livid.
"Have you no pity?" she moaned. "Are you made of steel?"
"Come, madame! I await your answer, and time presses."
She gave me a deadly glance, and rose slowly, clasping and unclasping
he hands convulsively. At last she said:
"Very well. You shall have the pardon."
"In that case, madame, I am to say that your papers will be returned to
you."
"Enough!" And with another burst of anger: "And now go--begone!"
"A moment!" And stepping towards the gong I struck it lightly with the
hammer. Almost on the stroke the door opened, and Créquy appeared, his
eyes staring with astonishment as he glanced from the one to the other
of us.
"Monsieur de Créquy," I said, "madame has received ill news, and it is
necessary for her to see the King at once. Madame will start for
Fontainebleau in an hour--that will suit you, madame?" And I turned to
La Valentinois.
"Yes."
"You will kindly make the necessary arrangements at once, monsieur--and
the Queen's guards will supply the escort. Monsieur de Lorgnac and I
accompany madame."
And with that I left them, Créquy staring after me in open-mouthed
amaze.