The day after these events had transpired the archduke, dressed always
in his uniform, for he carried military etiquette to its most extreme
limit, was in his study about two o'clock in the afternoon. One of his
aids, a man about forty years old, of calm and resolute countenance, was
standing before the table on the side opposite the prince, who was
seated, writing, with a haughtier, severer, and more care-worn manner
than usual. As he wrote, without raising his eyes to the officer, he
said to him:
"Is Captain Blum with Count Frantz?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"You have just seen the physician."
"Yes, monseigneur."
"What does he think of the count's condition?"
"He finds it more satisfactory, monseigneur."
"Does he think Count Frantz can support the fatigues of the journey
without danger?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"Major Butler, go and give the order at once to prepare one of my
travelling carriages."
"Yes, monseigneur."
"This evening at six o'clock you will depart with Count Frantz. Here is
the guide for your route," added the prince, handing to his aid the note
he had just written.
Then he remarked:
"Major Butler, you will not wait long for the proofs of my satisfaction
if you accomplish, with your usual devotion and firmness, the mission I
entrust to you."
"Your Highness can rely upon me."
"I know it, but I also know that, once recovering from his present
dejection, and being no longer restrained by his respect for me, Count
Frantz will certainly try to escape from your care along the route, and
to get back to Paris at any risk. If this misfortune happens, sir, take
care, for all my resentment will fall on you."
"I am certain that I shall not be undeserving of the kindness of your
Highness."
"I hope so. Do not forget, too, to write to me twice a day until you
reach the frontier."
"I will not fail, monseigneur."
"Upon your arrival on the territory of the Rhine provinces, send a
despatch to the military authority."
"Yes, monseigneur."
"The end of your journey reached, you will inform me, and you will
receive new orders from me."
At this moment the prince, hearing a light knock at the door, said to
the major:
"See who that is."
Another aide-de-camp handed the officer a letter, and said, in a low
voice:
"The envoy from Mexico has just sent this letter for his Highness."
And the aide-de-camp went out.
The major presented the letter to the prince, informing him whence it
came.
"I recommend to you once more the strictest vigilance, Major Butler,"
said the archduke, putting aside the letter from the Mexican envoy
without opening it. "You will answer to me in conducting Count Frantz to
the frontier."
"I give you my word, monseigneur."
"Go, major, I accept your word, I know its value. If you keep it, you
will have only cause for congratulation. So, make your preparation to
leave at six o'clock promptly. Diesbach will provide you with the money
necessary for your journey."
The major bowed respectfully.
"Say to Colonel Heidelberg that, after a few minutes, he can introduce
the envoy of Mexico and the person who accompanies him."
"Yes, monseigneur."
The officer bowed profoundly, and went out.
The prince, left alone, said to himself as he slowly unsealed the letter
which had been delivered to him:
"I must save this unhappy young man from his own folly. Such a marriage!
It is insanity. Well, I must be mad myself to feel so disturbed about
the consequences of this foolish passion of Frantz, as if I had not
complete power over him. It is not anger, it is pity which his conduct
ought to inspire in me."
In the midst of these reflections the prince had broken the seal of the
letter and glanced perfunctorily over its contents. Suddenly he jumped
up from his armchair; his haughty features took on an expression of
righteous indignation, as he said:
"The Marquise de Miranda, that infernal woman who recently created such
a scandal in Bologna,--almost a revolution,--by exposing that
unfortunate cardinal to the hisses and the fury of an entire populace
already so much disaffected! Oh, on no pretext will I receive that
shameless creature."
And the prince sprang to the door to give the order not to admit the
marquise.
He was too late.
The folding doors opened at that very moment, and she entered,
accompanied by the envoy of Mexico.
Taking advantage of the surprise of the archduke, the cause of which he
did not understand, the diplomatist bowed profoundly, and said:
"Monseigneur, I dare hope that your Highness will accept the excuses I
have just had the honour of offering you by letter on the subject of my
omission yesterday of an important formality. I ought to have mentioned
the name of the person for whom I solicited the favour of an audience
from your Highness. I have repaired this omission, and now it only
remains for me to have the honour of presenting to your Highness the
Marquise de Miranda, who bears a distinguished name in our country, and
to commend her to the kindness of your Highness."
The diplomatist, taking the prolonged silence of the prince for a
dismissal, bowed respectfully, and went out, not a little disappointed
at so cold a reception.
Madeleine and the archduke were left alone.
The marquise was, according to her custom, as simply and amply dressed
as on the day before; only, by chance or intention, a little veil of
English point adorned her hood of white crape, and almost entirely hid
her face.
The prince, whose manners partook at the same time of military harshness
and religious austerity,--his love for the mother of Frantz having been
his first and only youthful error,--looked with a sort of aversion upon
this woman, who, in his eyes, symbolised the most profound and most
dangerous perversity, for popular rumour accused the marquise of
attacking, by preference, with her seductions, persons of the most
imposing and sacred character; and then, finally, the widely known
adventure with the cardinal legate had, as the archduke believed, been
followed by such deplorable consequences that a sentiment of political
revenge was added to his hatred of Madeleine. So, notwithstanding his
cold and polished dignity, he thought at first of dismissing his
importunate visitor unceremoniously, or of disdainfully retiring into
another chamber without uttering a word. But finally, the curiosity to
see this woman about whom so many strange rumours were in circulation,
and, above all, a keen desire to treat her with that contempt which in
his opinion she deserved, modified his resolution. He remained; but
instead of offering a seat to Madeleine, who studied his face
attentively through her veil, he leaned his back squarely against the
chimney, crossed his arms, and, with his head thrown back, his eyebrows
imperiously elevated, he measured her with all the haughtiness of his
sovereign pride, shut himself up in a chilling silence, and said to her
not one word of encouragement or common civility.
The marquise, accustomed to produce a very different impression, and
feeling, unconsciously perhaps, a kind of intimidation which many
persons feel in the presence of high rank, particularly when it is
identified with such insolent arrogance, was abashed by such a crushing
reception, when she had hoped so much from the courtesy of the prince.
However, as she was acting for interests she believed to be sacred, and
as she was brave, she conquered her emotion, and, as the Spanish proverb
naturalised in Mexico says, she resolved bravely to "take the bull by
the horns." So, seating herself carelessly in an armchair, she said to
the prince, with the easiest and most smiling manner in the world:
"I come, monseigneur, simply to ask two things of you, one almost
impossible and the other altogether impossible."
The archduke was confounded; his sovereign rank, his dignity, the
severity of his character, his inflexible code of etiquette, always so
powerful in the courts of the North, had accustomed him to see women,
even, approach him with the most humble respect. Judge, then, of his
dismay when Madeleine continued gaily, with familiar ease:
"You do not reply, monseigneur? How shall I interpret the silence of
your Highness? Is it reflection? Is it timidity, or is it consent? Can
it be impoliteness? Impoliteness? No, I cannot believe that. In
touching the soil of France, slaves become free, and men with the least
gallantry at once assume an exquisite courtesy."
The prince, almost crazed by the amazement and anger produced by these
audacious words, remained silent.
The marquise continued, smiling:
"Nothing? Not a word? Come, monseigneur, what is the real significance
of the continued speechlessness of your Highness? Again I ask, is it
reflection? Then reflect. Is it timidity? Then overcome it. Is it
impoliteness? Remember that we are in France, and that I am a woman. But
can I, on the contrary, regard your silence as a blind consent to what I
am going to ask of you? Then say so at once, that I may at least inform
you what are the favours that you grant me so graciously beforehand, and
for which I desire to thank you cordially."
Then Madeleine, taking off her gloves, extended her hand to the
archduke. That perfect little hand, white, delicate, tapering,
fluttering, veined with azure, whose finger-nails resembled
rose-coloured shells, attracted the attention of the prince; in all his
life he had never seen such a hand. But soon, ashamed, revolting at the
thought of yielding to such a triviality at such an important moment,
the blush of indignation mounted to his brow, and he sought some word
superlatively scornful and wounding, that he might crush, with a single
club-like blow, this presumptuous woman, whose insolence had already
lasted too long for the dignity of an archduke.
Unfortunately, the prince was more accustomed to command his troops, or
to receive the homage of courtiers, than to find crushing words on the
spur of the moment, especially when they were wanted to crush a young
and pretty woman; nevertheless, he persisted in seeking.
This serene cogitation gave Madeleine the time to hide her hand under
her large sleeves, and to say to the prince, with a mischievous smile:
"There is no longer room for doubt, monseigneur, that the silence of
your Highness is due to timidity, and, too, to German timidity. I am
acquainted with that. After the timidity of the scholar, there is none
more unconquerable, and, therefore, more venerable, but there are
limitations to everything. So, I beg you, monseigneur, recover yourself.
I do not think there is anything in me calculated to awe your Highness,"
added the marquise, without lifting the veil which concealed her
features.
The archduke was unfortunate; in spite of his desire, he could not find
the crushing word, but, feeling how ridiculous his position was
becoming, he said;
"I do not know, madame, how you dared to present yourself here."
"But I present myself here in accordance with your consent,
monseigneur."
"When you requested an audience yesterday, I did not know your name,
madame."
"And what has my name done to you, monseigneur?"
"Your name, madame? Your name?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"Your name has been the scandal of Germany; you have made the most
spiritual of our poets a pagan, an idolater, a materialist."
"Indeed, monseigneur," replied Madeleine, with an accent of simplicity
quite provincial, "that was not my fault."
"It was not your fault?"
"And then, where is the great evil, monseigneur? Your religious poet
made mediocre verses, but now he writes magnificent ones."
"They are only the more dangerous, madame. And his soul,--his soul?"
"His soul has passed into his verses, monseigneur, so now it is twice
immortal."
"And the cardinal legate, madame?"
"At least, you cannot reproach me for having injured his soul, for he
had none."
"What, madame! have you not sufficiently vilified the sacred character
of the prince of the Church, this priest who until then was so austere,
this statesman who for twenty years was the terror of the impious and
the seditious? Have you not delivered him to the contempt, the hatred,
of wicked people? But for unexpected succour, they would have murdered
him; in short, madame, were you not on the point of revolutionising
Bologna?"
"Ah, monseigneur, you flatter me."
"And you dare, madame, to present yourself in the palace of a prince who
has so much interest in the peace and submission of Germany and Italy?
You dare come to ask favours of me,--things that you yourself say are
impossible or almost impossible? And in what tone do you make this
inconceivable request? In a tone familiar and jesting, as if you were
certain of obtaining anything from me. You have made a mistake, madame,
a great mistake! I resemble, I give you fair warning, neither the poet,
Moser-Hartmann, nor the cardinal legate, nor many others, they say you
have bewitched; in truth, your impudence would seem to be more like a
dream or nightmare than reality. But who are you then, madame, you who
think yourself so far above respect and duty as to treat me as an
equal,--me, whom the princesses of royal families approach only with
deference?"
"Alas, monseigneur! I am only a poor woman," replied Madeleine.
And she threw back the veil which had concealed her face from the eyes
of the archduke.