THE PRESENTATION.
Versailles is still fine to look upon; but it was splendid to view in
the period of its glory.
Particularly was it resplendent when a great ceremony was performed,
when the wardrobes and warehouses were ransacked to display their
sumptuous treasures, and the dazzling illuminations doubled the magic
of its wealth.
It had degenerated, but it still was glowing when it opened all its
doors and lit up all its flambeaux to hail the court reception of
Countess Dubarry. The curious populace forgot its misery and its rags
before so much bewildering show, and crammed the squares and Paris road.
All the palace windows spouted flame, and the skyrockets resembled
stars floating and shooting in a golden dust.
The king came out of his private rooms at ten precisely, dressed with
more care than usual, his lace being richer and the jewels in his
garter and shoe buckles being worth a fortune. Informed by Satines that
the court ladies were plotting against his favorite, he was careworn
and trembled with fury when he saw none but men in the ante-chamber.
But he took heart when, in the queen's drawing-room, set aside for
the reception, he saw in a cloud of powder and diamond luster, his
three daughters, and all the ladies who had vowed the night before to
stay away. The Duke of Richelieu ran from one to another, playfully
reproaching them for giving in and complimenting them on thinking
better of it.
"But what has made you come, duke?" they naturally challenged him.
"Oh, I am not here really--I am but the proxy for my daughter, Countess
Egmont. If you will look around you will not see her; she alone, with
Lady Grammont and Lady Guemenee has kept the pledge to keep aloof. I am
sure what will happen to me for practically staying away. I shall be
sent into exile for the fifth time, or to the Bastille for the fourth.
That will end my plotting, and I vow to conspire never again."
The king remarked the absentees, and he went up to the Duke of Choiseul
who affected the utmost calm and demanded:
"I do not see the Duchess of Grammont."
"Sire, my sister is not well, and she begs me to offer her most humble
respects," said Choiseul, only succeeding in flimsy indifference.
"That is bad for her!" ominously said the sovereign, turning his back
on the duke and thus facing Prince Guemenee.
"Have you brought your wife?" he questioned.
"Impossible, your majesty: when I went to bring her, she was sick abed."
"Nothing could be worse," said the king. "Good-evening, marshal," he
said to Richelieu, who bowed with the suppleness of a young courtier.
"You do not seem to have a touch of the complaint?"
"Sire, I am always in good health when I have the pleasure of beholding
your majesty."
"But I do not see your daughter the Countess of Egmont. What is the
reason of her absence?"
"Alas! sire," responded the old duke, assuming the most sorrowful mien,
"my poor child is the more indisposed from the mishap depriving her of
the happiness of this occasion, but----"
"Lady Egmont unwell, whose health was the most robust in the realm!
this is sad for her!" and the king turned his back on the old courtier
as he had on the others whom he snubbed.
Gloomy, anxious and irritated, the king went over to the window, and
seizing the carved handle of the sash with one hand, he cooled his
fevered brow against the pane. The courtiers could be heard chattering,
like leaves rustling before the tempest, while all eyes stared at
the clock; it struck the half-hour, when a great uproar of vehicles
rumbling on the yard cobblestones resounded under the carriage-way
vault. Suddenly the royal brow brightened and a flash shot from his
eyes.
"The Right Honorable Lady the Countess of Dubarry!" roared the usher to
the grand master of ceremonies. "The Right Honorable the Countess of
Bearn!"
Different sensations were making all hearts leap. Invincibly drawn by
curiosity, a flood of courtiers moved toward the monarch.
The wife of the Marshal of Mirepoix was carried close up to the king,
and though she had been in the front of the anti-Dubarryists, she
clasped her hands ready for adoration, and exclaimed:
"Oh, how lovely she is!"
The king turned and smiled on the speaker.
"But she is not a mere mortal," said Richelieu; "she is a fairy," which
won him the end of the smile.
In truth, never had the countess been fairer, more winsome in
expression, more modest in bearing, more noble in figure, more elegant
in step or more cunning in showing emotion; her like had never excited
admiration in the queen's drawing-room.
Charmingly beautiful, richly but not flauntingly dressed and notable
for a tastefully novel headdress, she advanced held by the hand of
Countess Bearn. Spite of atrocious pangs, the latter did not hobble or
even wince, though the rouge fell in flakes from her face as each step
wrung her to the core.
All eyes turned on the singular pair.
The old dame, with an old-fashioned low-necked robe, and her hair built
up a foot high above her bright but deep-set eyes like an osprey's,
her splendid attire and her skeleton-tread, seemed the image of the
past giving her hand to the present. This model of cold, dry dignity
guiding decent and voluptuous beauty, struck most with admiration and
astonishment.
The vivid contrast made the king fancy that Countess Bearn was bringing
him his favorite more youthful and brilliant than ever.
"You have a very fair novice to present, my lady," said he; "but she
also has a noble introductress, than whom there is not one whom I am
more pleased to see again at court."
The old lady courtesied.
"Go and bow to my daughters," whispered the monarch to Jeanne, "and
show that you know how to courtesy. I hope you will not be dissatisfied
with the way they reply to you."
His eyes were fixed upon his daughters and compelled them to show
politeness, and as Lady Dubarry bowed more lowly than court etiquette
prescribed, they were touched, and embraced her with a cordiality which
pleased their father.
Henceforward, the countess' success became a triumph.
The Duke of Richelieu, as the victor of Mahon, knew how to maneuver; he
went and placed himself behind the chair ready for Countess Dubarry, so
that he was near her when the presentation was over, without having to
battle with the crowd. Lady Mirepoix, knowing how lucky her old friend
was in warfare, had imitated him, and drew her stool close to the
favorite's chair.
Supported by the royal love, and the favorable welcome of the royal
princesses, Jeanne looked less timidly around among the noblemen,
though it was among the ladies that she expected enemies.
"Ah, my Lord of Richelieu," she said, "I had to come here to find you,
for you have let a week pass without calling at Luciennes."
"I was preparing for the pleasure of seeing you here, certain here to
meet!" "I wish you had imparted the certainty to me, for I was none
too sure on that head--considering that I am surrounded by plots to
thwart me."
She glared at the old gallant who bore the glance imperturbably.
"Plots? Goodness! what are you talking about?"
"In the first place my hairdresser was spirited away."
"Was he, indeed! what a lucky thing that I sent you a pearl of his
craft whom my daughter the Countess of Egmont found somewhere--an
artiste most superior to the general run, even to the royal perrukeers,
my little Leonard."
"Leonard," repeated the lady.
"Yes, a little fellow who does up my Septimanie's tresses, and whom
she keeps hidden from all eyes, as a miser does his cash-box. You are
not complaining of him, I think, for your ladyship is turned out, as
barbers say, marvelously. Curiously enough, the style reminds me of a
sketch which the court painter Boucher gave my daughter, for her to be
dressed in accord with it, had she not fallen ill. Poor Seppie! But you
were talking of plots?"
"Yes, they kept back my dress."
"This is odious! Though you are not to be pitied when arrayed in such
a choice China silk; with flower work applied; now, had you _applied_
to me in your quandary, as I hope you will in the future, I would have
sent you the dress my daughter had made for her presence here--it is so
like this, that I could vow it is the same."
Countess Dubarry seized both his hands, beginning to understand who was
the enchanter who had saved her from the embarrassment.
"I suppose it was in your daughter's coach that I was brought here?"
she said.
"Oh, I should know hers, for it was renovated for this occasion with
white satin; but there was no time to paint her blazon upon the
panels----"
"Only time to paint a rose! Duke, you are a delightful nobleman."
The old peer kissed the hands, of which he made a warm and perfumed
mask. Feeling them thrill, he started and asked the cause.
"Who is that man yonder, in a Prussian officer's dress, with black eyes
and expressive countenance, by Prince Guemenee?"
"Some superior officer whom the king of Prussia sends to honor your
presentation."
"Do not laugh, duke; but that man was in France three or four years
ago, and I have been seeking for him everywhere without avail."
"You are in error, countess; the stranger is Count Fenix, who arrived
but yesterday."
"How hard he looks at me!"
"Nay, how tenderly everybody is looking at you!"
"Look, he is bowing to me!"
"Everybody is doing that, if they have not done so."
A prey to extraordinary emotion, the lady did not heed the duke's
compliments, and, with her sight riveted on the stranger who captivated
her attention, she quitted Richelieu, in spite of herself, to move
toward the foreigner. The king was watching her and perceived the
movement. He thought she wanted him, and approached her, as he
had quite long enough stood aloof out of regard for the social
restrictions. But the countess was so engrossed that her mind would not
be diverted.
"Sire, who is that Prussian officer, now turning away from Prince
Guemenee to look this way?"
"The stout figure with the square face enframed in a golden
collar?--accredited from my cousin of Prussia--some philosopher of his
stamp. I am glad that German philosophy celebrates the triumph of King
Petticoat the Third, as they nickname the Louis for their devotion to
the sex of which you are the brightest gem. His title is Count Fenix,"
added the sovereign reflecting.
"It is he," thought Countess Dubarry, but as she kept silence the king
proceeded, raising his voice:
"Ladies, the dauphiness arrives at Compiegne to-morrow, the journey
having been shortened. Her royal highness will receive at midday
precisely. All the ladies _presented_ at court will be of the reception
party, except those who were absent to-day. The journey is fatiguing,
and her highness can have no desire to aggravate the ills of those who
are indisposed."
He looked with severity at Choiseul, Guemenee and Richelieu. A silence
of terror surrounded the speaker, whose words were fully understood as
meaning disgrace.
"Sire, I pray the exception for the Countess of Egmont, as she is the
daughter of my most faithful friend, the Duke of Richelieu."
"His Grace your friend?"
Approaching the old courtier who had comprehended from the motion of
the pleader's lips, he said:
"I hope Lady Egmont will be well enough to-morrow to come?"
"Certainly, sire. She would be fit for travel this hour, if your
majesty desired it." And he saluted with respect and thankfulness.
The king leaned over to the countess' ear and whispered a word.
"Sire, I am your majesty's most obedient servant." Her reverence was
accompanied by a most bewitching smile.
The king waved his hand and retired to his own rooms.
Scarcely had he crossed the threshold before the countess turned more
frightened than ever to the singular man who had so monopolized her.
Like the others, he had bowed as the monarch withdrew, but his brow
had worn a haughty, almost menacing aspect. As soon as Louis had
disappeared, he came and paused within a step or two of Lady Dubarry.
Urged by invincible curiosity, she took a step toward him, so that he
could say in a low voice as he bent to her:
"Am I recognized, lady?"
"Yes, as my prophet of Louis XV. Square."
"Well," queried the man with the clear, steady gaze, "Did I lie when I
told you of becoming the Queen of France?"
"No; your prophecy is all but accomplished. Hence, I am ready to keep
my promise. Speak your wish."
"The place is ill chosen, and the time has not come."
"I am ready to fulfill it any time."
"Can I come any time?"
"Yes; will it be as Count Fenix?"
"My title will be Count Joseph Balsamo."
"I shall not forget it, Balsamo," repeated the favorite as the
mysterious stranger was merged with the crowd.