The Baronne Jules, the widow of the great Baron and the mother of the
little Baron, had lost, under circumstances which are familiar to us,
her lover Raoul Marcien.[A] She was too tender-hearted to live alone,
and it would have been a pity had she done so. It came to pass that one
summer night, between the Bois and the Étoile, she took unto herself a
new lover. It is fitting to record this fact, as it is not unconnected
with public affairs.
[A] See _The Amethyst Ring_.
The Baronne Jules de Bonmont, who had spent the month of June at
Montil, on the banks of the Loire, was passing through Paris on her
way to Gmunden. Her house being shut up, she dined at one of the
restaurants in the Bois with her brother, Baron Wallstein, Monsieur and
Madame de Gromance, Monsieur de Terremondre, and young Lacrisse, who
like herself were passing through Paris.
As they all moved in good society they were all Nationalists, Baron
Wallstein as much as any of them. An Austrian Jew, expelled from
his country by the Viennese anti-Semites, he had settled in France,
where he founded a well-known anti-Semite paper and took refuge in
the friendship of the Church and the Army. Monsieur de Terremondre, a
gentleman of the lesser nobility, and a small landowner, displayed just
enough clerical and military enthusiasm to be able to identify himself
with the superior territorial aristocracy with which he associated.
The Gromances had too much interest in the return of the monarchy not
to desire it seriously. Their financial situation was very precarious.
Madame de Gromance, who was pretty, well-made, and mistress of her own
actions, had so far kept free of the Affair, but her husband, who was
no longer young, and was fast approaching the age when a man feels the
need of comfort, security and consideration, sighed for better days and
impatiently awaited the advent of the King. He was confident that he
would be created a peer of France by the restored Philippe. He based
his right to a seat in the Luxembourg on his loyalty to the Throne,
and entered the ranks of Monsieur Méline’s republicans, whom the King,
if he wished to secure them, would have to reward. Young Lacrisse was
secretary to the league of the Royalist youth of the department in
which the Baronne had estates and the Gromances creditors. Seated at
the little table under the trees, lit by candles whose pink shades were
surrounded by swooping moths, these five felt that they were united by
a single idea, which Joseph Lacrisse happily expressed by saying:
“France must be saved.”
It was the day of vast projects and stupendous hopes. They had, it is
true, lost President Faure and the Minister Méline, who—the former
strutting in dress-coat and pumps, the latter in a frock-coat made by a
village tailor, taking short steps in his heavy hob-nailed shoes—were
leading the Republic and Justice to their downfall. Méline had left
the Government and Faure had left the world of the living at the very
height of the banquet. It must also be recognized that the obsequies
of the latter had not produced all that was expected of them, and that
the coup they had hoped to bring off at the lying-in-state had proved
abortive. It was also true that after smashing President Loubet’s hat
the gentry of the cornflower and the white carnation had received
their chastisement at the hands of the Socialists. It is true that a
Republican Ministry was formed, and obtained a majority. But in the
ranks of the reactionary party were the clergy, the magistracy, the
army, the landed gentry, industry, commerce, part of the Chamber, and
almost the whole of the Press. And as young Lacrisse remarked, if the
Keeper of the Seals had taken it into his head to order a search to be
made at the headquarters of the Royalist and Anti-Jewish Committees
they would not have found one police commissary in the whole of France
to seize the compromising documents.
“Anyhow,” said Monsieur de Terremondre, “poor Monsieur Faure was of
great service to us.”
“He loved the army,” sighed Madame de Bonmont.
“Assuredly,” continued Monsieur de Terremondre. “And then by his
display he prepared people for the monarchy. Coming after him, the King
will not seem to be a burden upon the people; his establishment will
not seem ridiculous.”
Madame de Bonmont was anxious to be assured that the King would enter
Paris in a coach drawn by six white horses.
“One day last summer,” continued Monsieur de Terremondre, “as I was
walking down the Rue Lafayette, I found all the traffic stopped, with
groups of police here and there, and the pavements lined with people. I
asked a citizen what this meant, and he solemnly replied that they had
been waiting an hour for the President, who was returning to the Élysée
after a visit to Saint-Denis. I looked at the respectful idlers and at
the well-to-do people, who, with little parcels in their hands, were
sitting quiet and watchful in their waiting fiacres, deferentially
losing their trains. I was pleased to note that all these people
adapted themselves so easily to the customs of a monarchy, and that the
Parisians were quite ready to welcome their sovereign.”
“The city of Paris is no longer republican. All is going well,” said
Joseph Lacrisse.
“So much the better,” remarked Madame de Bonmont.
“Does your father share your hopes?” said Monsieur de Gromance of the
youthful secretary of the Young Royalists.
As a matter of fact, the opinion of Maître Lacrisse, advocate to the
Church authorities, was not to be despised. Maître Lacrisse was working
with the Headquarters Staff and preparing for the Rennes trial. He had
to go through the depositions of the generals and get them to repeat
their evidence. A Nationalist, and one of the leading lights of the
Bar, he was, however, suspected of having little confidence in the
issue of the Monarchist plots. The old man had worked in former days
for the Comte de Chambord and the Comte de Paris, and he knew from
experience that the Republic would not easily be ousted, and that she
was not so docile as she appeared. He had no faith in the Senate, and
as he made money at the Palais he resigned himself willingly enough
to living in France under a kingless monarchy. He did not share the
hopes of his son Joseph, but was too indulgent to condemn the ardour of
enthusiastic youth.
“My father,” replied Joseph Lacrisse, “has his own work; I have mine;
but our efforts are convergent.” And leaning towards Madame de Bonmont
he whispered, “We shall strike our blow during the Rennes trial.”
“May God help you,” said Madame de Gromance, with a pious sigh. “It is
time, if we want to save France.”
It was very hot and they ate their ices in silence. Then the
conversation languidly revived. It progressed fitfully, consisting of
commonplace remarks and private observations. Madame de Gromance and
Madame de Bonmont discussed clothes.
“There is a hint this year of pleated skirts coming into fashion,” said
Madame de Gromance, with inward satisfaction as she pictured the plump
proportions of the Baronne in a full skirt.
“You would never guess,” said Gromance, “where I went to-day. I went
to the Senate. They were not sitting, and Laprat-Teulet took me all
over the building. I saw everything—the hall, the gallery of Busts, the
library. It is a very fine building.”
What he did not tell them was that, in the semi-circle where the peers
were to sit when the King came to his own once more, he had felt the
velvet chairs and chosen his place in the centre. And before he went
out he had asked Laprat-Teulet where the treasury was. This visit
to the palace of the future peers had revived his covetousness. He
repeated with heartfelt and sincere conviction:
“We must save France, Monsieur Lacrisse, we must save France, and it
will only be in the nick of time.”
Lacrisse would see to that. He displayed much confidence and affected
great discretion. According to him, everything was in readiness. They
would no doubt be forced to smash Worms-Clavelin’s head for him and
perhaps do the same for two or three more of the Dreyfusites of the
department. And he added, swallowing a piece of crystallized peach:
“It’s bound to come.”
Then Baron Wallstein spoke. He spoke at length; he made them realize
his knowledge of affairs; he gave them advice, and related a few
stories from Vienna which greatly amused him. Then, in conclusion:
“It is all very satisfactory,” he said, with his irrepressible German
accent; “it is all very satisfactory, but you must admit that your
_coup_ at President Faure’s funeral was a failure. If I speak like
this it is because I am your friend. One owes the truth to one’s
friends. Do not make a second mistake, because in that case you would
lose your following.”
He looked at his watch, and seeing that he had barely time to get to
the Opera before the close of the performance, lighted a cigar and rose
from the table.
The position of Joseph Lacrisse demanded discretion; he was a
conspirator. But he loved to display his power, to reveal the
consideration in which he was held. He took from his pocket a blue
morocco letter-case, which he carried against his breast, and drew from
it a letter which he handed to Madame de Bonmont, saying with a smile:
“They can search my flat if they like; I carry all my documents about
me.”
Madame de Bonmont took the letter, read it in a whisper, and, flushing
with respect and emotion, returned it with a hand that trembled
slightly to Joseph Lacrisse. And when the august letter, returned to
its blue morocco case, once more resumed its place next the secretary’s
heart, the Baronne gazed at his left breast with a lingering expression
at once tearful and filled with fire. In her eyes young Lacrisse had
suddenly become resplendent with romantic beauty.
The diners who still lingered under the trees of the restaurant began
to feel the dampness and the chill of the night. The pink lights
gleaming on the flowers and glass flickered out one by one on the
deserted tables. At the request of Madame de Gromance and the Baronne,
Joseph Lacrisse for the second time drew the royal letter from his
letter-case and read in a low but distinct voice:
“MY DEAR JOSEPH,
“I am greatly delighted by the patriotic enthusiasm
which our friends are displaying, thanks to your efforts. I
have seen G. D., who seemed to me to be excellently well
disposed towards us.
“Cordially yours,
“PHILIPPE.”
After reading the note Lacrisse replaced the sheet of paper in his blue
morocco letter-case against his heart, beneath the white carnation in
his buttonhole. Monsieur de Gromance murmured a few words of approval:
“Very nice indeed. Those are the words of a real leader, a true king.”
“That is my feeling,” said Joseph Lacrisse. “It is a pleasure to
execute the orders of such a master.”
“And the style is excellently concise,” continued Monsieur de Gromance.
“The Duc d’Orléans certainly seems to have inherited the secret of the
Comte de Chambord’s epistolary style. Of course you know, mesdames,
that the Comte de Chambord wrote the most beautiful letters imaginable.
A most able writer. That is really the truth. He excelled above all in
letter-writing. There is a trace of his grand manner in the note which
Monsieur Lacrisse has just read to us. And the Duc d’Orléans has more
enthusiasm; he has the fiery energy of youth. A fine figure of a man, a
fine soldierly figure, and French to the backbone! He has a fascinating
personality. I have been assured that in the working-class districts of
Paris he is almost a popular favourite; he is known under the nickname
of ‘Gamelle.’[B]
[B] _Gamelle_ might be roughly translated by “Matey.”
“His cause has made great progress among the masses,” said Lacrisse.
“The little brooches with the King’s head, of which we have distributed
enormous quantities, are beginning to show themselves in the factories
and workshops. The populace has more common sense than is commonly
supposed. We are within reach of success.”
In a benevolent and authoritative tone Monsieur de Gromance continued:
“With zeal, prudence and devotion such as yours, Monsieur Lacrisse, any
hopes are permissible, and I am sure you will not have to sacrifice
many victims in order to obtain success. Your opponents will flock over
to you of their own accord.”
His attitude as a supporter of the Republic, while not preventing him
from expressing a desire for the restoration of the monarchy, did not
permit him to express a too open approval of the violent methods which
young Lacrisse had indicated at dessert. Monsieur de Gromance, who
went to balls given at the Prefecture and was carrying on a flirtation
with Madame Worms-Clavelin, tactfully remained silent when the young
secretary enlarged upon the necessity of doing for the “sheeny”
prefect; but it was no breach of good taste on his part to praise the
Prince’s letter as it deserved, and to give them all to understand that
he was ready for any sacrifice to save his country.
Monsieur de Terremondre was no less patriotic and no less appreciative
of Philippe’s epistolary style; but he was such an enthusiastic
collector of curios and autographs that all he could think of was
how he could get Lacrisse to give him the Prince’s letter, either in
exchange for something else or as a free gift or a so-called loan. By
such methods he had got hold of several letters written by people mixed
up in the Dreyfus affair and had formed an interesting collection.
Now he was thinking of writing a pamphlet on the Monarchist Plot and
putting in the Prince’s letter as the principal feature. He realized
that it would be difficult to obtain and his mind was full of the
matter.
“Come and see me, Monsieur Lacrisse,” he said. “Come and see me at
Neuilly, where I shall be for the next few days. I will show you some
interesting documents and we will speak again of that letter.”
Madame de Gromance had listened with proper attention to the King’s
epistle. She was a woman of the world, and too well versed in its ways
not to know what was due to royalty. She had bowed her head on hearing
the words of Philippe as she would have bowed to the King’s carriage
if she had had the honour of seeing it pass. But she was wanting in
enthusiasm and had no feeling of veneration. She knew all about princes
and had been as intimate as it is possible to be with a relation of
the Duc d’Orléans. This had occurred in an unobtrusive little house
in the Champs-Élysées district, one afternoon. They had said all that
they had to say, and the occasion had not had a sequel. Monseigneur had
been pleasant but not at all magnificent. Of course she felt honoured,
but she had never regarded the honour as either very special or very
extraordinary. She respected princes; occasionally she loved them; but
she did not dream about them, and the letter left her quite unmoved.
As for young Lacrisse, the sympathy which she felt for him was neither
ardent nor tumultuous. She understood and approved of this fair-haired
young man. He was small, slender and agreeable enough, though he was
not rich. He was doing his very utmost to profit by the Affair and
acquire importance. She, too, knew by experience that it is not easy
to live in Society if one is poor. They were both working to keep
their footing in Society. This was one reason for a good understanding
between them. They could help one another now and then. But that was
all!
“I congratulate you, Monsieur Lacrisse,” she said, “and you have my
very best wishes.”
How much more chivalrous and tender were the feelings of Baronne Jules!
The gentle Viennese was interested heart and soul in this fashionable
plot, of which the white carnation was the emblem. And she, too, was
so fond of flowers! To be mixed up in an aristocratic plot in favour
of the King was to her to enter into and luxuriate in the old French
nobility, to be received in the most exclusive houses, and later on,
perhaps, to go to Court. She was excited, pleased and agitated. Being
affectionate rather than ambitious, her susceptible heart was touched
by what she was pleased to consider the poetry of the Prince’s letter.
And the innocent woman spoke as she thought:
“Monsieur Lacrisse, that is a poetical letter.”
“That is true,” returned Lacrisse.
And a long look passed between them.
After this nothing further memorable was said as they sat in the
summer’s night before the flowers and candles of the little restaurant
table.
The time came for them to go. As Monsieur Joseph Lacrisse placed her
cloak round the Baronne’s plump shoulders, she held out her hand to
Monsieur de Terremondre, who was saying good-bye. He was walking to
Neuilly, where he was staying for the time being.
“It is quite near, only a quarter of a mile. I am sure, madame, that
you don’t know Neuilly. I have discovered, at Saint-James, the remnant
of an old park, with a group by Lemoyne in a trelliswork arbour. I must
show it to you some day.”
And already his tall strongly-built figure was receding along the path
that lay bathed in the blue moonlight.
The Baronne offered to give the Gromances a lift in the carriage which
her brother Wallstein had sent for her from the club.
“Get in with me, there is plenty of room for three.”
But the Gromances were people of discretion. They hailed a cab which
had stopped outside the restaurant gates and got into it before she had
time to stop them. She and Joseph Lacrisse were left standing alone by
the open door of the carriage.
“Would you like a lift, Monsieur Lacrisse?”
“I’m afraid I shall be in your way.”
“Not in the least. Where shall I drop you?”
“At the Étoile.”
They started along the blue road bordered by black foliage, in the
silent night.
* * * * *
And the drive came to an end.
The Baronne asked as the carriage stopped, in the voice of one
awakening from a dream:
“Where are we?”
“At the Étoile, alas!” replied Joseph Lacrisse.
And when he had left her, the Baronne, bowling along the Avenue
Marceau, alone in the now chilly carriage, held a torn white carnation
between her bare fingers. With half-closed eyes and parted lips, she
still felt the eager yet gentle embrace which, pressing the royal
letter against her bosom, had filled her with the sweetness of love
and the pride of glory. She felt that this letter endowed her little
private adventure with a national greatness and the majesty of the
history of France.