MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
We wandered through the salons, the Marquis and I. It was no easy
matter to find a friend in rooms so crowded.
"Stay here," said the Marquis, "I have thought of a way of
finding him. Besides, his jealousy may have warned him that there
is no particular advantage to be gained by presenting you to his
wife, I had better go and reason with him; as you seem to wish an
introduction so very much."
This occurred in the room that is now called the "Salon
d'Apollon." The paintings remained in my memory, and my adventure
of that evening was destined to occur there.
I sat down upon a sofa; and looked about me. Three or four
persons beside myself were seated on this roomy piece of gilded
furniture. They were chatting all very gaily; all--except the
person who sat next me, and she was a lady. Hardly two feet
interposed between us. The lady sat apparently in a reverie.
Nothing could be more graceful. She wore the costume perpetuated
in Collignan's full-length portrait of Mademoiselle de la
Vallière. It is, as you know, not only rich, but elegant. Her
hair was powdered, but one could perceive that it was naturally a
dark brown. One pretty little foot appeared, and could anything
be more exquisite than her hand?
It was extremely provoking that this lady wore her mask, and did
not, as many did, hold it for a time in her hand.
I was convinced that she was pretty. Availing myself of the
privilege of a masquerade, a microcosm in which it is impossible,
except by voice and allusion, to distinguish friend from foe, I
spoke--
"It is not easy, Mademoiselle, to deceive me," I began.
"So much the better for Monsieur," answered the mask, quietly.
"I mean," I said, determined to tell my fib, "that beauty is a
gift more difficult to conceal than Mademoiselle supposes."
"Yet Monsieur has succeeded very well," she said in the same
sweet and careless tones.
"I see the costume of this, the beautiful Mademoiselle de la
Vallière, upon a form that surpasses her own; I raise my eyes,
and I behold a mask, and yet I recognise the lady; beauty is
like that precious stone in the 'Arabian Nights,' which emits, no
matter how concealed, a light that betrays it."
"I know the story," said the young lady. "The light betrayed it,
not in the sun, but in darkness. Is there so little light in
these rooms, Monsieur, that a poor glowworm can show so brightly.
I thought we were in a luminous atmosphere, wherever a certain
countess moved?"
Here was an awkward speech! How was I to answer? This lady might
be, as they say some ladies are, a lover of mischief, or an
intimate of the Countess de St. Alyre. Cautiously, therefore, I
inquired,
"What countess?"
"If you know me, you must know that she is my dearest friend. Is
she not beautiful?"
"How can I answer, there are so many countesses."
"Every one who knows me, knows who my best beloved friend is. You
don't know me?"
"That is cruel. I can scarcely believe I am mistaken."
"With whom were you walking, just now?" she asked.
"A gentleman, a friend," I answered.
"I saw him, of course, a friend; but I think I know him, and
should like to be certain. Is he not a certain marquis?"
Here was another question that was extremely awkward.
"There are so many people here, and one may walk, at one time,
with one, and at another with a different one, that--"
"That an unscrupulous person has no difficulty in evading a
simple question like mine. Know then, once for all, that nothing
disgusts a person of spirit so much as suspicion. You, Monsieur,
are a gentleman of discretion. I shall respect you accordingly."
"Mademoiselle would despise me, were I to violate a confidence."
"But you don't deceive me. You imitate your friend's diplomacy. I
hate diplomacy. It means fraud and cowardice. Don't you think I
know him. The gentleman with the cross of white ribbon on his
breast. I know the Marquis d'Harmonville perfectly. You see to
what good purpose your ingenuity has been expended."
"To that conjecture I can answer neither yes nor no."
"You need not. But what was your motive in mortifying a lady?"
"It is the last thing on earth I should do."
"You affected to know me, and you don't; through caprice or
listlessness or curiosity you wished to converse, not with a
lady, but with a costume. You admired, and you pretend to
mistake me for another. But who is quite perfect? Is truth any
longer to be found on earth?"
"Mademoiselle has formed a mistaken opinion of me."
"And you also of me; you find me less foolish than you supposed.
I know perfectly whom you intend amusing with compliments and
melancholy declamation, and whom, with that amiable purpose, you
have been seeking."
"Tell me whom you mean," I entreated.
"Upon one condition."
"What is that?"
"That you will confess if I name the lady."
"You describe my object unfairly." I objected. "I can't admit
that I proposed speaking to any lady in the tone you describe."
"Well, I shan't insist on that; only if I name the lady, you
will promise to admit that I am right."
"_Must_ I promise?"
"Certainly not, there is no compulsion; but your promise is the
only condition on which I will speak to you again."
I hesitated for a moment; but how could she possibly tell? The
Countess would scarcely have admitted this little romance to any
one; and the mask in the La Vallière costume could not possibly
know who the masked domino beside her was.
"I consent," I said, "I promise."
"You must promise on the honour of a gentleman."
"Well, I do; on the honour of a gentleman."
"Then this lady is the Countess de St. Alyre." I was unspeakably
surprised; I was disconcerted; but I remembered my promise, and
said--
"The Countess de St. Alyre _is_, unquestionably, the lady to whom
I hoped for an introduction to-night; but I beg to assure you
also on the honour of a gentleman, that she has not the faintest
imaginable suspicion that I was seeking such an honour, nor, in
all probability, does she remember that such a person as I
exists. I had the honour to render her and the Count a trifling
service, too trifling, I fear, to have earned more than an hour's
recollection."
"The world is not so ungrateful as you suppose; or if it be,
there are, nevertheless, a few hearts that redeem it. I can
answer for the Countess de St. Alyre, she never forgets a
kindness. She does not show all she feels; for she is unhappy,
and cannot."
"Unhappy! I feared, indeed, that might be. But for all the rest
that you are good enough to suppose, it is but a flattering
dream."
"I told you that I am the Countess's friend, and being so I must
know something of her character; also, there are confidences
between us, and I may know more than you think, of those trifling
services of which you suppose the recollection is so transitory."
I was becoming more and more interested. I was as wicked as other
young men, and the heinousness of such a pursuit was as nothing,
now that self-love and all the passions that mingle in such a
romance, were roused. The image of the beautiful Countess had now
again quite superseded the pretty counterpart of La Vallière, who
was before me. I would have given a great deal to hear, in solemn
earnest, that she did remember the champion who, for her sake,
had thrown himself before the sabre of an enraged dragoon, with
only a cudgel in his hand, and conquered.
"You say the Countess is unhappy," said I. "What causes her
unhappiness?"
"Many things. Her husband is old, jealous, and tyrannical. Is not
that enough? Even when relieved from his society, she is lonely."
"But you are her friend?" I suggested.
"And you think one friend enough?" she answered; "she has one
alone, to whom she can open her heart."
"Is there room for another friend?"
"Try."
"How can I find a way?"
"She will aid you."
"How?"
She answered by a question. "Have you secured rooms in either of
the hotels of Versailles?"
"No, I could not. I am lodged in the Dragon Volant, which stands
at the verge of the grounds of the Château de la Carque."
"That is better still. I need not ask if you have courage for an
adventure. I need not ask if you are a man of honour. A lady may
trust herself to you, and fear nothing. There are few men to whom
the interview, such as I shall arrange, could be granted with
safety. You shall meet her at two o'clock this morning in the
Park of the Château de la Carque. What room do you occupy in the
Dragon Volant?"
I was amazed at the audacity and decision of this girl. Was she,
as we say in England, hoaxing me?
"I can describe that accurately," said I. "As I look from the
rear of the house, in which my apartment is, I am at the extreme
right, next the angle; and one pair of stairs up, from the hall."
"Very well; you must have observed, if you looked into the park,
two or three clumps of chestnut and lime-trees, growing so close
together as to form a small grove. You must return to your hotel,
change your dress, and, preserving a scrupulous secrecy, as to
why or where you go, leave the Dragon Volant, and climb the
park-wall, unseen; you will easily recognize the grove I have
mentioned; there you will meet the Countess, who will grant you
an audience of a few minutes, who will expect the most scrupulous
reserve on your part, and who will explain to you, in a few
words, a great deal which _I_ could not so well tell you here."
I cannot describe the feeling with which I heard these words. I
was astounded. Doubt succeeded. I could not believe these
agitating words.
"Mademoiselle will believe that if I only dared assure myself
that so great a happiness and honour were really intended for me,
my gratitude would be as lasting as my life. But how dare I
believe that Mademoiselle does not speak, rather from her own
sympathy or goodness, than from a certainty that the Countess de
St. Alyre would concede so great an honour?"
"Monsieur believes either that I am not, as I pretend to be, in
the secret which he hitherto supposed to be shared by no one but
the Countess and himself, or else that I am cruelly mystifying
him. That I am in her confidence, I swear by all that is dear in
a whispered farewell. By the last companion of this flower!" and
she took for a moment in her fingers the nodding head of a white
rosebud that was nestled in her bouquet. "By my own good star,
and hers--or shall I call it our '_belle_ étoile?' Have I said
enough?"
"Enough?" I repeated, "more than enough--a thousand thanks."
"And being thus in her confidence, I am clearly her friend; and
being a friend would it be friendly to use her dear name so; and
all for sake of practising a vulgar trick upon you--a stranger?"
"Mademoiselle will forgive me. Remember how very precious is the
hope of seeing, and speaking to the Countess. Is it wonderful,
then, that I should falter in my belief? You have convinced me,
however, and will forgive my hesitation."
"You will be at the place I have described, then, at two
o'clock?"
"Assuredly," I answered.
"And Monsieur, I know, will not fail, through fear. No, he need
not assure me; his courage is already proved."
"No danger, in such a case, will be unwelcome to me."
"Had you not better go now, Monsieur, and rejoin your friend?"
"I promised to wait here for my friend's return. The Count de St.
Alyre said that he intended to introduce me to the Countess."
"And Monsieur is so simple as to believe him?"
"Why should I not?"
"Because he is jealous and cunning. You will see. He will never
introduce you to his wife. He will come here and say he cannot
find her, and promise another time."
"I think I see him approaching, with my friend. No--there is no
lady with him."
"I told you so. You will wait a long time for that happiness, if
it is never to reach you except through his hands. In the
meantime, you had better not let him see you so near me. He will
suspect that we have been talking of his wife; and that will whet
his jealousy and his vigilance."
I thanked my unknown friend in the mask, and withdrawing a few
steps, came, by a little "circumbendibus," upon the flank of the
Count.
I smiled under my mask, as he assured me that the Duchesse de la
Roqueme had changed her place, and taken the Countess with her;
but he hoped, at some very early time, to have an opportunity of
enabling her to make my acquaintance.
I avoided the Marquis d'Harmonville, who was following the Count.
I was afraid he might propose accompanying me home, and had no
wish to be forced to make an explanation.
I lost myself quickly, therefore, in the crowd, and moved, as
rapidly as it would allow me, toward the Galerie des Glaces,
which lay in the direction opposite to that in which I saw the
Count and my friend the Marquis moving.