The Marquis was a charming cavalier; tall, slight, with a moustache
black and curling upwards, an eye sparkling and intelligent, a Roman
nose, an Austrian lip, a firm step, a noble and imposing presence.
The Marchioness blushed slightly, at sight of him, but offered him her
hand to kiss; and as she begged him by a gesture to be seated, thus
inwardly took counsel with herself.
"Decidedly, I believe that the test is useless; it is Monsieur de
Beaugency whom I love. How proud shall I be to lean upon his arm at the
court-fetes! With what delight shall I keep long watches in the cabinet
of his Excellency the Ambassador, whilst he is busy with his Majesty's
affairs!"
But after this "aside," the Marchioness resumed her gracious and
coquettish air; as though the woman comprehended the mission of refined
gallantry which was reserved for her seductive and delicate epoch by an
indulgent Providence, that laid by its anger and its evil days for the
subsequent reign.
"Marchioness," said Monsieur de Beaugency, as he held in his hands the
rosy fingers of the lovely widow, "it is fully a week since you received
me!"
"A week? why, you were here yesterday!"
"Then I must have counted the hours for ages."
"A compliment which may be found in one of the younger Crebillon's
books!"
"You are hard upon me, Marchioness."
"Perhaps so, ... it comes naturally ... I am tired."
"Ah, Marchioness! Heaven knows that I would make of your existence one
never-ending fete!"
"That would, at least, be wearisome."
"Say a word, Madam, one single word, and my fortune, my future
prospects, my ambition!"--
"You are still then as ambitious as ever?"
"More than ever, since I have been in love with you."
"Is that necessary?"
"Beyond a doubt. Ambition--what is it but honours, wealth, the envious
looks of impotent rivals, the admiration of the crowd, the favour of
monarchs?... And is not one's love unanswerably and most triumphantly
proved, in laying all this at the feet of the woman whom one adores?"
"You may be right."
"I may be right, Marchioness! Listen to me, my fair lady-love."
"I am all attention, sir."
"Between us, who are well-born, and consort not with plebeians, that
vulgar and sentimental sort of love, which is painted by those who write
books for your mantuamakers and chambermaids, would be in exceedingly
bad taste. It would be but slighting love and making no account of its
enjoyments, were we to go and bury it in some obscure corner of the
Provinces, or of Paris--we, who belong to Versailles--living away there
with it, in monotonous solitude and unchanging contemplation!"
"Ah!" said the Marchioness, "you think so?"
"Tell me, rather, of fetes that dazzle one with lights, with noise, with
smiles, with wit, through which one glides intoxicated, with the fair
conquest in triumph on one's arm ... why hide one's happiness, in place
of parading it? The jealousy of the world does but increase, and cannot
diminish it. My uncle, the Cardinal, stands well at court. He has the
King's ear, and better still, the Countess's. He will, ere long, procure
me one of the Northern embassies. Cannot you fancy yourself Madame the
Ambassadress, treading the platform of a drawing-room, as royalty with
royalty, with the highest nobility of a kingdom--having the men at your
feet, and the women on lower seats around you, whilst you yourself are
occupant of a throne, and wield a sceptre?"
And as Monsieur de Beaugency warmed with his own eloquence, he gently
slid from his seat to the knees of the Marchioness, whose hand he
covered with kisses.
She listened to him, with a smile on her lips, and then abruptly said to
him:
"Rise, sir, and hear me in turn. Are you in truth sincerely attached to
me?"
"With my whole soul, Marchioness!"
"Are you prepared to make every sacrifice?"
"Every one, Madam."
"That is fortunate indeed; for to be prepared for all, is to accomplish
one, without the slightest difficulty; and it is but a single one that I
require."
"Oh, speak! Must a throne be conquered?"
"By no means, sir. You must only call to mind that you own a fine
chateau in Poitou."
"Pooh!" said Monsieur de Beaugency, "a shed."
"Every man's house is his castle," replied the widow. "And having called
it to mind, you need only order post-horses."
"For what purpose?"
"To carry me off to Courlac. It is there that your almoner shall unite
us, in the chapel, in presence of your domestics and your vassals, our
only witnesses."
"A singular whim, Marchioness; but I submit to it."
"Very well. We will set out this evening.... Ah! I forgot."
"What, further?"
"Before starting, you will send in your resignation to the King."
Monsieur de Beaugency almost bounded from his seat.
"Do you dream of that, Marchioness?"
"Assuredly. You will not, at Courlac, be able to perform your duties at
court."
"And on returning?"
"We will not return."
"We will--not--return!" slowly ejaculated Monsieur de Beaugency. "Where
then shall we proceed?"
"Nowhere. We will remain at Courlac."
"All the winter?"
"And all the summer. I count upon settling myself there, after our
marriage. I have a horror of the court. I do not like the turmoil.
Grandeur wearies me.... I look forward only to a simple and charming
country life, to the tranquil and happy existence of the forgotten lady
of the castle.... What matters it to you? You were ambitious for my
love's sake. I care but little for ambition; you ought to care for it
still less, since you are in love with me."
"But, Marchioness--"
"Hush! it's a bargain.... Still, for form's sake, I give you one hour to
reflect. There, pass out that way; go into the winter drawing-room that
you will find at the end of the gallery, and send me your answer upon a
leaf of your tablets. I am about to complete my toilet, which I left
unfinished, to receive you."
And the Marchioness opened a door, bowed Monsieur de Beaugency into the
corridor, and closed the door upon him.
"Marchioness," cried the King, from his hiding place and through the
screen, "you will offer Monsieur de Menneval the embassy to Prussia,
which I promise you for him."
"And you will not emerge from your retreat?"
"Certainly not, Madame; it is far more amusing to remain behind the
scenes. One hears all, laughs at one's ease, and is not troubled with
saying any thing."
It struck two. Monsieur de Menneval was announced. His Majesty remained
snug, and shammed dead.