A FALL
Irène de Stainville was quite right when she thought that sympathy
would be on her side, in the grave affront which had been put upon
her, and for which she had revenged herself somewhat drastically, but
under the circumstances quite naturally.
Although in this circle--known as the Queen's set--the young
Marchioness of Eglinton had always been looked up to as a leader and
an especial favourite, the accusation which Irène had brought against
her was so awful, her own attitude of passive acquiescence so
incomprehensible, that it was small wonder that after the departure of
Their Majesties, when the crowd broke up into isolated groups, most
people there present held themselves aloof from her.
The words "a jealous woman's caprice," which at the outset had so
angered the Queen, expressed fully the interpretation put upon Lydie's
conduct by those who witnessed the scene from beginning to end. That
Irène de Stainville had inflicted on her the humiliation of a terrible
public indictment, was reckoned only as retributive human justice.
Lydie knew well enough that the crowd which surrounded her--though
here usually composed of friends--was only too ready to believe evil,
however crying, against a woman placed so highly in Royal and social
favour as she herself had been for years. Already she could hear the
murmur of condemnation round her, and that from people who should
have known that she was quite incapable of committing the base
treachery attributed to her.
Of course she had not denied it. She could not have denied it, in the
face of the wording of the accusation itself.
And she felt herself hideously and morally guilty, guilty in the facts
though not in the spirit. As Irène had put it crudely and simply, she
had handed over to Gaston de Stainville in the privacy of the Park of
Versailles the secret which would deliver the Stuart prince into the
hands of his enemies.
How could she begin to explain to all these people that her motive had
been good and pure, her orders to Gaston altogether different from
those imputed to her by Irène? No one would have believed her
explanation unless Gaston too spoke the truth. And Gaston meant to be
an infamous liar to the end.
She had been the tool of that clique, it was they now who were ready
to cast her aside, to break her power and ultimately to throw her on
the heap of social refuse, where other traitors, liars and cheats
mouldered away in obscurity.
Already she knew what the end would be, already she tasted the bitter
fruit of waning popularity.
Quite a crowd of obvious sympathizers gathered round the Comte and
Comtesse de Stainville. Gaston's avowedly base conduct was--it
seems--to be condoned. At best he stood branded by his own
wife--unwittingly perhaps--as having betrayed a woman who for right or
wrong, had trusted him, but it is strange to record that, in this era
of petticoat rule, the men were always more easily forgiven their
faults than the women.
Lydie found herself almost alone, only Monsieur de Louvois came and
spoke to her on an official matter, and presently Monsieur le Duc
d'Aumont joined them.
"Will you let me take you back to your apartments, Lydie?" urged
Monsieur le Duc. "I fear the excitement has seriously upset you."
"You think I have been to blame, father dear?" she asked quite gently.
"Oh! . . ." he murmured vaguely.
"You did not speak up for me when that woman accused me . . ."
"My dear child," he said evasively, "you had not taken me into your
confidence. I thought . . ."
"You still think," she insisted, "that what Madame de Stainville said
was true?"
"Isn't it?" he asked blandly.
He did not understand this mood of hers at all. Was she trying to
deny? Impossible surely! She was a clever woman, and with the map and
her own letter, sealed and signed with her name, what was the good of
denying?
"Your own letter and the map, my child," he added with gentle
reproach, thinking that she feared to trust him completely.
"Ah yes! my own letter!" she murmured, "the map . . . I had
forgotten."
No! she did not mean to deny! She could not deny! . . . Her own father
believed her guilty . . . and all she could have done would have been
to urge the purity of her motive. Gaston had of course destroyed her
orders to the command of _Le Monarque_ and there was only the map
. . . and that awful, awful letter.
Monsieur le Duc thought that his daughter had been very unwise.
Having trusted Gaston, and placed herself as it were in his hands, she
was foolish to anger him. No man--if he have the faintest pretension
to being called an honourable gentleman--however smitten he might be
with another woman's charms, will allow his wife to be publicly
insulted by her rival. No doubt Lydie had been jealous of Irène, whose
somewhat indiscreet advances to milor Eglinton had aroused universal
comment. But Lydie did not even pretend to care for her own husband
and she had yielded her most treasured secret to Gaston de Stainville.
There she should have remained content and not have provoked Irène's
wrath, and even perhaps a revulsion of feeling in Gaston himself.
Unlike King Louis, Monsieur le Duc d'Aumont did not approve of his
daughter's name being associated with the treacherous scheme from
which he was ready enough to profit financially himself, although in
the innermost depths of his heart he disapproved of it. He knew his
Royal master well enough to be fully aware of the fact that, when the
whole nefarious transaction came to light, Louis would find means of
posing before the public as the unwilling tool of a gang of
money-grabbers. When that happened, every scornful finger would of
necessity--remembering the events of this night--point at Lydie, and
incidentally at her father, as the prime movers of the scheme.
It had been far better to have conciliated Irène and not to have
angered Gaston.
But women were strange creatures, and jealousy their most autocratic
master. Even his daughter whom he had thought so exceptional, so
clever and so clear-headed, was not free from the weaknesses of her
sex.
"Methinks, my dear," he said kindly, "you have not acted as wisely as
I should have expected. Madame de Stainville, on my honour, hath not
wronged you so as to deserve a public affront, and Gaston himself only
desired to serve you."
Monsieur le Duc must have raised his voice more than he intended, or
else perhaps there had occurred quite suddenly in the crowd of
sympathizers, that now stood in a dense group round Madame de
Stainville, one of those inevitable moments of complete silence when
angels are said to be fluttering round the room. Certain it is that
Monsieur le Duc's words sang out somewhat loudly, and were heard by
those whose names had been on his lips.
"Nay! I entreat you, Monsieur le Duc," came in light, bantering
accents from Gaston de Stainville, "do not chide your fair daughter.
Believe me, we who have suffered most are not inclined to be severe.
As to me the psychology of Madame la Marquise's mood has been
profoundly interesting, since it hath revealed her to the astonished
gaze of her many admirers, as endowed with some of the weaknesses of
her adorable sex. Why should we complain of these charming weaknesses?
For though we might be very hard hit thereby, they are but expressions
of flattery soothing to our pride."
The groups had parted somewhat as he spoke, leaving him face to face
with Lydie, towards whom he advanced with an affected gait and mincing
steps, looking at her with mocking eyes, whilst toying gracefully with
the broad black ribbon that held his eyeglass.
But Gaston's were not the only sarcastic glances that were levelled at
Lydie. His fatuous innuendoes were unmistakable, and bore out the
broader and more shameful accusation hurled by Irène. Lydie's own
attitude, her every action to-night, the expression of her face at
this moment seemed to prove them true. She retreated a little as he
advanced, and, doing so, she raised her head with that proud toss
which was habitual to her.
Thus her eyes travelled swiftly across the room, and she saw her
husband standing some distance away. She, too, like King Louis,
wondered how much he had heard, how much he knew: and knowing all,
what he meant to do. Instinctively when she caught sight of him, and
then once more saw Gaston de Stainville drawing nearer to her, she
remembered that warning which milor had given her that morning, and
which she had thought so futile, anent the loathsome reptile that,
once touched, would pollute for ever.
"Madame," said Gaston now, as he boldly approached her, "my friends
here would tell me no doubt that, by every code of social honour, my
duty is to punish you or someone who would represent you in this
matter, for the affront done to my wife. But how can I do that since
the offender is fair as well as frail? My desire is not to punish, but
rather to thank you on my knees for the delicate compliment implied by
your actions to-night. I knew that you honoured me by trusting in me,"
he added with obvious significance, "but I had not hoped to provoke
such flattering jealousy in the heart of the most statuesque woman in
France."
A titter went round the room. Gaston's attitude seemed suddenly to
have eased the tension, as of an impending tragedy, which had hung
over the brilliant assembly for the last half hour. Monsieur le Comte
was such a dreadful _mauvais sujet_ but so delightful in his ways, so
delicately refined in his wickedness! He was quite right to take the
matter lightly, and a murmur of approval followed the titter, at the
tact with which he had lifted the load of apprehension from the minds
of the company.
Madame la Marquise d'Eglinton was something of a fool to take the
matter so thoroughly _au tragique_. No doubt the affairs of the Stuart
prince would right themselves presently, and she certainly should have
had more regard for her willing and obviously devoted accomplice.
He looked so superlatively elegant and handsome now, the younger women
sighed whilst they admired him. He pointed his toe and held out his
tricorne in the manner prescribed by fashion for the making of a bow,
and it was most unfortunate that he was so suddenly stopped in the
very midst of his graceful flourish by a quiet and suave voice which
came immediately from behind him.
"I would not do that, were I in your red-heeled shoes, my good
Stainville. A slip on this highly-polished floor is certain to be the
result."
But even before the gentle echo of these blandly spoken words had
penetrated to the further ends of the room, Monsieur le Comte de
Stainville had measured his full length face downward on the ground.
His fall was so instantaneous that he had not the time to save himself
with his hands, and he was literally sprawling now at Lydie's feet
with arms and legs stretched out, his face having come in violent
contact with the polished floor. Quite close to him Lord Eglinton was
standing, laughing softly and discreetly and looking down on the
prostrate and distinctly inelegant figure of the handsome cavalier.
A ripple of merry laughter followed this unexpected turn of events.
One or two spectators, who had stood quite close at the very moment
that the catastrophe occurred, declared subsequently that milor had
with a quick action of his foot thrown Monsieur de Stainville off his
balance; the intense slipperiness of the parquet having merely done
the rest.
Be that as it may, the laughter of necessity was prudently suppressed,
for already Gaston had picked himself up and there was that in his
face which warned all those present that the farce--such as it
was--would prove the prelude to real and serious tragedy.
"There now," said Lord Eglinton blandly, "did I not warn you, Monsieur
le Comte? Graceful flourishes are apt to be treacherous."
"Milor. . ." said Gaston, who was livid with rage.
"Hush--sh--sh," interrupted milor in the same even and gentle voice,
"not in the presence of ladies. . . . An you desire, Monsieur le
Comte, I'll be at your service later on."
Then he turned toward his wife, bowing low, but not in the least as
Gaston de Stainville would have bowed, for he had inherited from his
father all the stiffness of manner peculiar to the Anglo-Saxon race.
Thus at this moment he looked distinctly gauche, though not without
dignity, as, his back slightly bent, his left arm outstretched, he
waited until Lydie chose to place her hand on his sleeve.
"Your seconds, milor," shouted Gaston, who seemed quite unable to
control himself, and who had to be distinctly and even determinedly
held back by two of his friends from springing then and there at Lord
Eglinton's throat.
"They will wait on yours to-night, Monsieur le Comte," replied _le
petit Anglais_ affably. "Madame la Marquise, will you honour me?"
And Lydie took his arm and allowed him to lead her out of the room.