TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have been
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[Illustration: NINON DE L’ENCLOS.
_From an Original Picture given by herself to the Countess of
Sandwich and by the present Earl of Sandwich to M^r Walpole 1757_]
NINON DE L’ENCLOS
AND HER CENTURY
BY
M. C. ROWSELL
AUTHOR OF
“THE FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE,” “TRAITOR OR PATRIOT,” “THORNDYKE
MANOR,” “MONSIEUR DE PARIS,” ETC. ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration: (colophon)]
BRENTANO’S
NEW YORK
HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED
LONDON
1910
_Printed in Great Britain_
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I 1
Birth—Parentage—“Arms and the Man”—A Vain Hope—Contraband
Novels—A Change of Educational System—Ninon’s Endowments—The
Wrinkle—A Letter to M. de L’Enclos and What Came of it—A
Glorious Time—“Troublesome Huguenots”—The Château at
Loches, and a New Acquaintance—“When Greek meets Greek”—The
Prisoners—“Liberty”—The Shades of Night—Vagabonds? or Two Young
Gentlemen of Consequence?—Tired Out—A Dilemma—Ninon Herself
Again—Consolation.
CHAPTER II 14
Troublesome Huguenots—Madame de L’Enclos—An Escapade and Nurse
Madeleine—Their Majesties—The Hôtel Bourgogne—The End of the
Adventure—St Vincent de Paul and his Charities—Dying Paternal
Counsel—Ninon’s New Home—Duelling—Richelieu and the Times.
CHAPTER III 27
A Life-long Friend—St Evrémond’s Courtly _Mot_—Rabelais _v._
Petronius—Society and the Salons—The Golden Days—The Man in
Black.
CHAPTER IV 36
A “Delicious Person”—Voiture’s Jealousy—A Tardy
Recognition—Coward Conscience—A Protestant Pope—The Hôtel de
Rambouillet—St Evrémond—The Duel—Nurse Madeleine—Cloistral
Seclusion and Jacques Callot—“Merry Companions Every One”—and One
in Particular.
CHAPTER V 51
An Excursion to Gentilly—“_Uraniæ Sacrum_”—César and
Ruggieri—The rue d’Enfer and the Capucins—Perditor—The
Love-philtre—Seeing the Devil—“Now You are Mine!”
CHAPTER VI 61
Nemesis—Ninon’s Theories—Wits and Beaux of the Salons—Found
at Last—“The Smart Set”—A Domestic Ménage—Scarron—The Fatal
Carnival—The Bond of Ninon—Corneille and _The Cid_—The
Cardinal’s Jealousy—Enlarging the Borders—Monsieur l’Abbé and the
Capon Leg—The Grey Cardinal—A Faithful Servant.
CHAPTER VII 81
Mélusine—Cinq-Mars—An Ill-advised Marriage—The Conspiracy—The
Revenge—The Scaffold—A Cry from the Bastille—The Lady’s
Man—“The Cardinal’s Hangman”—Finis—Louis’s Evensong—A Little
Oversight—The King’s Nightcap—Mazarin—Ninon’s Hero.
CHAPTER VIII 91
“Loving like a Madman”—A Great Transformation—The Unjust
Tax—Parted Lovers—A Gay Court and A School for Scandal, and
Mazarin’s Policy—The Regent’s Caprices—The King’s Upholsterer’s
Young Son—The Théâtre Illustre—The Company of Monsieur and
Molière.
CHAPTER IX 103
The Rift in the Lute—In the Vexin—The Miracle of the Gardener’s
Cottage—Italian Opera in Paris—Parted Lovers—“Ninum”—Scarron
and Françoise d’Aubigné—Treachery—A Journey to
Naples—Masaniello—Renewing Acquaintances—Mazarin’s Mandate.
CHAPTER X 115
The Fronde and Mazarin—A Brittany Manor—Borrowed Locks—The
Flight to St Germains—A Gouty Duke—Across the Channel—The Evil
Genius—The Scaffold at Whitehall—Starving in the Louvre—_The
Mazarinade_—Poverty—Condé’s Indignation—The Cannon of the
Bastille—The Young King.
CHAPTER XI 124
Invalids in the rue des Tournelles—On the Battlements—“La Grande
Mademoiselle”—Casting Lots—The Sacrifice—The Bag of Gold—“Get
Thee to a Convent”—The Battle of the Sonnets—A Curl-paper—The
Triumph and Defeat of Bacchus—A Secret Door—Cross Questions and
Crooked Answers—The Youthful Autocrat.
CHAPTER XII 135
The Whirligig of Time, and an Old Friend—Going to the Fair—A
Terrible Experience—The Young Abbé—“The Brigands of La
Trappe”—The New Ordering—An Enduring Memory—The King over the
Water—Unfulfilled Aspirations—“Not Good-looking.”
CHAPTER XIII 144
Christina’s Modes and Robes—Encumbering Favour—A Comedy at the
Petit-Bourbon—The Liberty of the Queen and the Liberty of the
Subject—Tears and Absolutions—The Tragedy in the Galérie des
Cerfs—Disillusions.
CHAPTER XIV 154
_Les Précieuses Ridicules_—Sappho and _Le Grand Cyrus_—The
Poets of the Latin Quarter—The Satire which Kills—A Lost
Child—Periwigs and New Modes—The Royal Marriage and a Grand
Entry.
CHAPTER XV 163
_Réunions_—The Scarrons—The Fête at Vaux—The Little Old Man in
the Dressing-gown—Louise de la Vallière—How the Mice Play when
the Cat’s Away—“Pauvre Scarron”—An Atrocious Crime.
CHAPTER XVI 175
A _Lettre de Cachet_—Mazarin’s Dying Counsel—Madame Scarron
Continues to Receive—Fouquet’s Intentions and What Came of
Them—The Squirrel and the Snake—The Man in the Iron Mask—An
Incommoding Admirer—“Calice cher, ou le parfum n’est plus”—The
Roses’ Sepulchre.
CHAPTER XVII 185
A Fashionable Water-cure Resort—M. de Roquelaure and his
Friends—Louis le Grand—“A Favourite with the Ladies”—The Broken
Sword—A _Billet-doux_—La Vallière and la Montespan—The Rebukes
from the Pulpit—Putting to the Test—_Le Tartufe_—The Triumphs of
Molière—The Story of Clotilde.
CHAPTER XVIII 199
A Disastrous Wooing—Fénelon—“Mademoiselle de L’Enclos”—The Pride
that had a Fall—The Death of the Duchesse d’Orléans—Intrigue—The
Sun-King and the Shadows—The Clermont Scholar’s Crime—Monsieur
de Montespan—Tardy Indignation—The Encounter—The Filles
Répenties—What the Cards Foretold.
CHAPTER XIX 212
“In Durance Vile”—Molière’s _Mot_—_The Malade
Imaginaire_—“Rogues and Vagabonds”—The Passing of Molière—The
Narrowing Circle—Fontenelle—Lulli—Racine—The Little Marquis—A
Tardy Pardon—The Charming Widow Scarron—A Journey to the Vosges,
and the Haunted Chamber.
CHAPTER XX 228
The Crime of Madame Tiquet—A Charming Little Hand—_Aqua
Toffana_—The Casket—A Devout Criminal—The Sinner and
the Saint—Monsieur de Lauzun’s Boots—“Sister Louise”—La
Fontange—“Madame de Maintenant”—The Blanks in the Circle—The
Vatican Fishes and their Good Example—Piety at Versailles—The
Periwigs and the Paniers—Père la Chaise—A Dull Court—Monsieur de
St Evrémond’s Decision.
CHAPTER XXI 241
A Distinguished Salon—The Duke’s Homage—Quietism—The Disastrous
Edict—The Writing on the Window-pane—The Persecution of the
Huguenots—The Pamphleteers—The Story of Jean Larcher and _The
Ghost of M. Scarron_—The Two Policies.
CHAPTER XXII 251
Mademoiselle de L’Enclos’ _Cercle_—Madeleine de Scudéri—The
Abbé Dubois—“The French Calliope,” and the Romance of her
Life—“_Revenons à nos Moutons_”—A Resurrection?—Racine and his
Detractors—“Esther”—_Athalie_ and St Cyr—Madame Guyon and the
Quietists.
CHAPTER XXIII 263
A Grave Question—The Troublesome Brother-in-Law—“No
Vocation”—The Duke’s Choice—Peace for “La Grande
Mademoiselle”—An Invitation to Versailles—Behind the
Arras—Between the Alternatives—D’Aubigné’s Shadow—A Broken
Friendship.
CHAPTER XXIV 275
The Falling of the Leaves—Gallican Rights—“The Eagle of
Meaux”—Condé’s Funeral Oration—The Abbé Gedouin’s Theory—A
Bag of Bones—Marriage and Sugar-plums—The Valour of Monsieur
du Maine—The King’s Repentance—The next Campaign—La Fontaine
and Madame de Sablière—MM. de Port Royal—The Fate of Madame
Guyon—“Mademoiselle Balbien.”
CHAPTER XXV 288
The Melancholy King—The Portents of the Storm—The Ambition of
Madame Louise Quatorze—The Farrier of Provence—The Ghost in
the Wood—Ninon’s Objection—The King’s Conscience—A Dreary
Court—Racine’s Slip of the Tongue—The Passing of a Great Poet,
and a Busy Pen Laid Down.
CHAPTER XXVI 301
Leaving the Old Home—“Wrinkles”—Young Years and Old Friends—“A
Bad Cook and a Little Bit of Hot Coal”—Voltaire—_Irène_—Making a
Library—“Adieu, Mes Amis”—The Man in Black.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
NINON DE L’ENCLOS _Frontispiece_
CARDINAL RICHELIEU _To face page_ 24
DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD ” 48
MOLIÈRE ” 100
ST EVRÉMOND ” 112
NINON DE L’ENCLOS ” 127
NINON DE L’ENCLOS
AND HER CENTURY
NINON DE L’ENCLOS
AND HER CENTURY
CHAPTER I
Birth—Parentage—“Arms and the Man”—A Vain Hope—Contraband
Novels—A Change of Educational System—Ninon’s Endowments—The
Wrinkle—A Letter to M. de L’Enclos and What Came of it—A
Glorious Time—“Troublesome Huguenots”—The Château at
Loches, and a New Acquaintance—“When Greek meets Greek”—The
Prisoners—“Liberty”—The Shades of Night—Vagabonds? or Two Young
Gentlemen of Consequence?—Tired Out—A Dilemma—Ninon Herself
Again—Consolation.
Anne de L’Enclos was born in Paris in 1615. She was the daughter of
Monsieur de L’Enclos, a gentleman of Touraine, and of his wife, a
member of the family of the Abra de Raconis of the Orléanois.
It would not be easy to find characteristics more diverse than those
distinguishing this pair. Their union was an alliance arranged
for them—a _mariage de convenance_. Diametrically opposite in
temperament, Monsieur was handsome and distinguished-looking; while
the face and figure of Madame were ordinary. She was constitutionally
timid, and intellectually narrow, devoted to asceticism, and reserved
in manner. She passed her time in seclusion, dividing it between
charitable works, the reading of pious books, and attendance at
Mass and the other services of the Church. Monsieur de L’Enclos,
on the other hand, was a votary of every pleasure and delightful
distraction the world could afford him. Among them he counted
duelling; he was a skilled swordsman, and his rapier play was of the
finest. A brave and gallant soldier, he had served the royal cause
during the later years of Henri IV., and so on into the reign of
Louis XIII. He was a _bon vivant_, and arms and intrigue, which were
as the breath of life to him, he sought after wherever the choicest
opportunities of those were likely to be found.
Notwithstanding, the rule of life-long bickering and mutual reproach
attending such ill-assorted unions, would seem to be proved by its
exception in the case of Ninon’s parents; since no record of any such
domestic strife stands against them. Bearing and forbearing, they
agreed to differ, and went their several ways—Madame de L’Enclos
undertaking the training and instruction of Ninon in those earliest
years, in the fond hope that there would be a day when she should
take the veil and become a nun. Before, however, she attained to
the years of as much discretion as she ever possessed, she had
arrived at the standpoint of the way she intended to take of the
life before her, which was to roll into years that did not end until
the dawning of the eighteenth century; and it in no way included any
such intention. So sturdily opposed to it, indeed, was she, that it
irresistibly suggests the possibility of her being the inspiration of
the old song—“Ninon wouldn’t be a nun”—
“I shan’t be a nun, I won’t be a nun,
I am so fond of pleasure that I _won’t_ be a nun!”
For Ninon was her father’s child; almost all her inherited instincts
were from him. The endeavours of Madame de L’Enclos failed
disastrously. The monotony and rigid routine of the young girl’s life
repelled the bright, frank spirit, and drove it to opposite extreme,
resulting in sentiments of disgust for the pious observances of her
church; and taken there under compulsion day in, day out, she usually
contrived to substitute some plump little volume of romance, or other
light literature, at the function, for her Mass-book and breviary, to
while away the tedium.
In no very long time Monsieur de L’Enclos, noting the bent of his
daughter’s nature, himself took over her training. He carried it
on, it is scarcely necessary to say, upon a plane widely apart from
the mother’s. A man of refined intellect, he had studied the books
and philosophy of the renaissance of literature; and before Ninon
was eleven years old, while imbuing her with the love of reading
such books as the essays of Montaigne and the works of Charon, he
accustomed her to think and to reason for herself, an art of which
she very soon became a past-mistress, the result being an ardent
recognition of the law of liberty, and the Franciscan counsel of
perfection: “_Fay ce qu’et voudray._” Ninon possessed an excellent
gift of tongues, cultivating it to the extent of acquiring fluently,
Italian, Spanish, and English, rendered the more easy of mastery
from her knowledge of Latin, which she so frequently quotes in her
correspondence.
Her love of music was great; she sang well, and was a proficient on
the lute, in which her father himself, a fine player, instructed her.
She conversed with facility, and doubtless took care to cultivate
her natural gifts in those days when the arts of conversation and
_causerie_ were indispensable for shining in society, and she loved
to tell a good story; but she drew a distinct line at reciting. One
day when Mignard, the painter, deplored his handsome daughter’s
defective memory, she consoled him—“How fortunate you are,” she
said, “she cannot recite.”
The popular acceptation of Ninon de L’Enclos’ claims to celebrity
would appear to be her beauty, which she retained to almost the
end of her long life—a beauty that was notable; but it lay less
in perfection of the contours of her face, than in the glorious
freshness of her complexion, and the expression of her magnificent
eyes, at once vivacious and sympathetic, gentle and modest-glancing,
yet brilliant with voluptuous languor. Any defects of feature were
probably those which crowned their grace—and when as in the matter
of a slight wrinkle, which in advanced years she said had rudely
planted itself on her forehead, the courtly comment on this of
Monsieur de St Evrémond was to the effect that “Love had placed it
there to nestle in.” Her well-proportioned figure was a little above
middle height, and her dancing was infinitely graceful.
Provincial by descent, Mademoiselle de L’Enclos was a born Parisian,
in that word’s every sense. Her bright eyes first opened in a small
house lying within the shadows of Notre-Dame, the old Cité itself,
the heart of hearts of Paris, still at that time fair with green
spaces and leafy hedgerows, though these were to endure only a few
years longer. Her occasionally uttered wish that she had been born
a man, hardly calls for grave consideration. The desire to don
masculine garments and to ride and fence and shoot, and to indulge
generally in manly pursuits, occurred to her when she was still short
of twelve years old, by which time she was able to write well; and
her earliest epistolary correspondence included a letter addressed to
her father. It ran as follows:—
“MY VERY HONOURED FATHER,—I am eleven years old. I am big and
strong; but I shall certainly fall ill, if I continue to assist at
three masses every day, especially on account of one performed by
a great, gouty, fat canon, who takes at least twelve minutes to
get through the Epistle and the Gospel, and whom the choir boys
are obliged to put back again on his feet after each genuflexion.
I would as soon see one of the towers of Notre Dame on the
altar-steps; they would move quite as quickly, and not keep me so
long from breakfast. This is not at all cheering I can tell you. In
the interest of the health of your only child, it is time to put
an end to this state of things. But in what manner, you will ask,
and how is it to be set about? Nothing more simple. Let us suppose
that instead of me, Heaven had given you a son: I should have been
brought up by you, and not by my mother; already you would have
begun to instruct me in arms, and mounted me on horseback, which
would have much better pleased me than twiddling along the beads of
a rosary to _Aves_, _Paters_, and _Credos_. The present moment is
the one for me to inform you that I decide to be no longer a girl,
and to become a boy.
“Will you therefore arrange to send for me to come to you, in order
to give me an education suitable to my new sex? I am with respect,
my very honoured father,—Your little
NINON.”
This missive, which Ninon contrived to get posted without her
mother’s knowledge, met with her father’s hearty approval. No
more time was lost than it took to make her a handsome suit of
clothes, of the latest mode, the one bearing the palm for grace
and picturesqueness, far and away from all the fashions of men’s
attire, speaking for itself in the canvases of Vandyck; and Ninon
stands forth in the gallant bravery of silken doublet, with large
loose sleeves slashed to the shoulder; her collar a falling band of
richest point lace; the short velvet cloak hanging to the shoulder;
the fringed breeches meeting the wide-topped boots frilled about with
fine lawn; the plumed, broad-brimmed Flemish beaver hat, well-cocked
to one side upon the graceful head, covered with waves of dark hair
falling to the neck; gauntleted gloves of Spanish leather; her rapier
hanging from the richly-embroidered baldric crossing down from the
right shoulder—a picture that thrilled the heart of Monsieur de
L’Enclos with ecstasy; and when, splendidly mounted, she rode forth,
ruffling it gallantly beside him, he was the proud recipient of many
a compliment and encomium on the son of whose existence until now
nobody had been as much as aware.
These delightful days were destined, however, to come quickly to an
end. Fresh disturbances arose with the Huguenots of La Rochelle and
Loudun, and Monsieur de L’Enclos was summoned to join his regiment.
Ninon would doubtless have liked of all things to go with him; but
while this was impossible, she was spared the dreaded alternative of
the fat canon and the three Masses a day, by her father accepting
for her an invitation from his sister, the Baroness Montaigu, who
lived on her estate near Loches, on the borders of the Indre. This
lady, a widow and childless, had long been desirous of making the
acquaintance of her young niece, and on his way north-west, Monsieur
de L’Enclos left Ninon at the château. “And when we have settled
these wretched Huguenots,” said Monsieur de L’Enclos, as he bade her
farewell, and slipped a double louis into her hands, “I will return
for you.”
Madame de Montaigu was a charming lady, of the same spirited, gay
temperament as her brother. She received her niece with the utmost
kindness, and having been initiated into the girl’s whim for playing
the boy, she laughingly fell in with it, and addressed her with
the greatest gravity as “my pretty nephew,” introducing to her,
a—shall it be said?—another young gentleman, by name François
de la Rochefoucauld, Prince de Marsillac, the son of her intimate
friend, the Duchesse de la Rochefoucauld. The lad was a pupil at the
celebrated Jesuits’ College of La Flêche, founded by Henri IV., and
usually spent part of his holidays at the Loches château.
A year or two older than Ninon, Marsillac was a shy and retiring
boy, and at first rather shrank from his robustious new companion,
who, however, soon contrived to draw him out, putting him on his
mettle by pretending to doubt his prowess with sword and rapier, and
his skill generally in the noble art of fencing. She challenged him
to measure weapons with her, and piqued at the idea of one younger
than himself pretending to martial superiority, he cast aside his
shyness, and the two falling on guard, clashed and clattered their
steel in the galleries and chambers of the house, from morning till
night, until the noise grew intolerable, and their weapons were taken
away from them, in the fond hope of securing peace and quietness. It
was, however, only partially realised; since the enforced idleness
of Ninon’s hands suggested the surreptitious annexing of the head
forester’s gun, with which she took aim at the blackbirds in the park
avenues, and the young does in the forest: and then, seeking further
variety, the two manned the pleasure-boat on the lake, and fared into
such perilous places, that the voyages became strictly tabooed, and
the boat was hidden away.
The constant _tintamarre_ of the pair frequently brought its
punishment; and one day, on the occasion of a too outrageous
disturbance, they were locked into the library. Books they had no
particular mind for that glorious sunshiny morning; still less
enjoyable was the prospect of the promised dinner of dry bread and
water, and they sat gloomily gazing upon the softly-waving boughs of
the trees, and up through the open window into the free blue sky.
Being some eighteen feet from the ground, it had not been thought
necessary to bar the casement beyond possibility of their trying
to escape. The feat would assuredly not so much as suggest itself.
Nevertheless, the temptation crept into the soul of Ninon, and she
quickly imparted it to Marsillac.
Looking down, they saw that soft green turf belted the base of the
wall, and taking hurried counsel, they climbed to the window-sill,
and at the risk of their necks, clutching by the carved stonework,
and the stout old ivy trails with which it was mantled, they dropped
to the ground, and then away they hied by the clipped yew alleys,
mercilessly trampling the parterres—away till they found themselves
in the forest. Free now as the sweet breeze playing in their hair,
they ran on, pranking and shouting, now following the little beaten
tracks, now bounding over the brushwood, heedless of the rents and
scratches of the thorny tangles; until after some hours, Marsillac’s
pace began to drag, and very soon he said he was tired.
“That is no matter,” said Ninon, “we will hire a carriage at the
first place we come to”; but the name of that place was not even
to be guessed at; inasmuch as they had not the least notion which
way they had taken. The great thing was to arrive at last at Tours,
where Ninon said they could at once enlist as soldiers. Marsillac
was, however, tired—very tired; his legs ached, and he sat down for
a little rest, observing rather crossly, in the cynical way which
sometimes he had, that talking was all very well; but for one thing
they were not big enough for soldiers, and for another, you could not
have a carriage without paying for it.
“Of course not,” acquiesced Ninon, proudly producing her double
louis. “Can I not pay?” But the hours passed, the sun declined, and
not so much as a solitary cottage had presented itself to their
eyes, into which a shade of anxiety had crept; and ere long they
began to feel certain they saw wolves and lions and bandits lurking
in all directions behind the huge black forest tree-trunks, and
young Monsieur de la Rochefoucauld had now grown so tired that, he
wanted nothing so much as to go to bed. Even supper was a secondary
consideration. Still, desperately hungry as they both were, liberty
is such a glorious thing; and were they not free?—free as the air
that was growing so chilly, and the pale moonlight rays as they broke
through some darkening clouds, seemed to make it almost shuddery.
These, however, suddenly crossed something white, and though
terrifying for the moment, the second glance to which they schooled
themselves brought reassurance. The white patch they saw was a bit
of a cottage wall pierced by a little lattice, through which gleamed
the yellow light of a tallow candle; for the two, creeping close to
the panes, peeped in. But noiselessly as they strove to render their
movements, the attention of a couple of big dogs of the _boule-dogue_
breed was aroused, to the extent of one of them fastening upon
Marsillac’s _haut-de-chausses_, and he was only induced to forbear
and drop off, under the knotty, chastising stick of a man, apparently
the master of the house, who turned upon the trembling truants, and
bade them clear off for the vagabonds they were. Their mud-stained
and torn apparel, rendered more dilapidated in Marsillac’s case, by
the dog’s teeth, justified to a great extent the man’s conclusions;
but on their asseverating that they were not good-for-nothing at all;
but two very well-born young gentlemen who had lost their way, and
would be glad to pay generously for a supper, he called his wife,
and committing them to her care, bade her entertain them with the
best her larder afforded, and to put a bottle of good wine on the
table. Then he went out, while an excellent little piece of a haunch
of roe-deer—cooking apparently for the supper of the worthy couple
themselves—which Dame Jacqueline set before the hungry wanderers,
was heartily appreciated by both. Washed down by a glass or two of
the fairly good wine, Marsillac grew hopelessly drowsy. Tired out,
he wanted to go to bed. “And why not?” said the dame, not without
a gleam of malice in her eyes, which had been keenly measuring the
two—“but I have only one bed to offer you, our own, and you must
make the best of it.” She smiled on.
“Not I,” said Ninon, rising from the settle like a giant
refreshed—“I am going on to Tours. The moon is lovely. It will be
delightful. How much to pay, dame? And a thousand thanks for your
hospitality. Come, Marsillac,” and Ninon strode to the door. But the
glimpses of the pillows within the shadow of the alcove had been
too much for Marsillac, and he had already divested himself of his
_justaucorps_, and jumped into bed.
“And now, my young gentleman, what about you?” inquired Jacqueline
of the embarrassed Ninon, who seated herself disconsolately on a
little three-legged stool. “Come, quick, to bed with you!”
“No!” said Ninon, “I prefer this stool.”
“Oh, ta! ta! that will never do,” said Jacqueline, who was beginning
to heap up a broad old settle with a cushion or two, and some wraps.
“Sooner than that, I would sit on that stool myself all night, and
give you up my place here beside my—Ah! _à la bonne heure!_ There he
is,” she cried, as the heavy footsteps of the master of the house,
crunching up the garden path, amid the barking of the dogs, grew
audible—“and, as I say, give you up my own place—”
“Ah, _mon Dieu_! no,” distractedly cried Ninon, tearing off her
cloak; and bounding into the alcove, to the side of the already fast
asleep Marsillac, she dragged the coverings over her head.
“Well, good-night! Sweet repose, you charming little couple,” laughed
on Dame Jacqueline, as she drew the curtains to. “But I’d not go to
sleep yet awhile, look you. Some friends of yours are coming here to
see you. Ah yes, here they are! This way, ladies.”
And the next moment, Madame de Montaigu and the Duchesse de la
Rochefoucauld stood within the alcove, gazing down with glances
beyond power of words to describe.
Dragged by the two ladies from their refuge, Marsillac was hustled
into his garments, but Ninon was bidden to leave hers alone, and to
don the petticoats and bodice which the baroness had brought for the
purpose. “No more masquerading, if you please,” said her aunt, in
tones terrible with indignation and severity, “while I have you under
my charge. Now, quick, home with you!”
And home they were conducted, disconsolate, crestfallen, arriving
there in an extraordinarily short space of time; for the château
lay not half a league off, and the two runaways, who had imagined
that the best part of Touraine had been covered by them that fine
summer day, discovered that the mazes of the forest paths had
merely led them round and about within hail of Loches, and Dame
Jacqueline and her husband had at once recognised them. The man had
then hastened immediately to the château, and informed the ladies,
to their indescribable relief, about the two good-for-nothings; for
the hue and cry after Mademoiselle Ninon and young Monsieur de la
Rochefoucauld had grown to desperation as the sun westered lower and
lower.
Ninon wept tears of chagrin and humiliation at the penalty she had
to pay of being a girl again; but Marsillac’s spirits revived with
astonishing rapidity. He even seemed to be glad at the idea of his
fellow-scapegrace being merely one of the weaker and gentler sex, and
in her dejection he was for ever seeking to console her. “I love you
ever so much better this way, dear one,” he was constantly saying.
“Ah, Ninon, you are beautiful as an angel!”
But alas! for the approach of Black Monday, and the holidays ended,
Marsillac had to go back to school.