AT THE PALAIS ROYAL
I had scarce opened my eyes the next morning when there came a rap at
the door.
“Come in!” I cried.
The door opened and Jacques entered.
“An order for you, M. de Brancas,” he said, “left here a moment ago by
one of the regent’s guards,” and he handed me a folded paper.
I opened it with a trembling hand. What new move was this?
“M. de Brancas,” I read, “will be in the chapel of the Palais Royal
at nine o’clock this morning. He will accompany the Duc de Richelieu,
and will not leave until the ceremony which is to take place at that
hour has been concluded. He will then proceed directly to the private
audience-chamber. Signed, Orleans, Regent.”
“’Tis hardly a new calamity, Jacques,” I said, seeing his anxious face,
“but it may presage one. Is Richelieu awake?”
“He is in the dining-hall awaiting you, monsieur.”
“Tell him I will join him in a moment,” and leaping out of bed, I was
soon dressed and downstairs.
I looked at the duke anxiously as I advanced to take his hand, and was
pleased to note that his face showed less disorder than I had feared.
“Ah, do not look so depressed, my friend!” he cried, rising to meet me.
“I have finished the battle, and I fancy you will no longer find me the
foolish and vacillating creature of last night. At least, I shall be
strong enough to say yes or no.”
“That is well, monsieur,” I said, but I glanced at him with some
concern, for his gayety seemed feverish. I judged it best to say
nothing on that score, however, and we sat down to breakfast together,
the duke maintaining a rapid flow of conversation which awakened in me
still more uneasiness.
“I received an order this morning from the regent,” I said, at last,
“commanding me to accompany you to the Palais Royal this morning at
nine o’clock. If you think the sight will prove too painful, you could
easily feign illness, monsieur.”
“No, no,” and Richelieu grew grave in a moment. “I shall go, my friend,
and prove to Charlotte that I am not the coward she must think me.”
“But it seems an unnecessary trial for both of you,” I protested.
“The regent has ordered it, de Brancas,” answered Richelieu, quietly;
“and do you know why he has ordered it? Simply to give me pain. Ah,
well, I will show him that I can smile even when my heart is breaking.”
He fell silent for a time and then suddenly arose.
“Come,” he said, “we have no time to lose. It will be a brilliant
assembly and we must pay some attention to our toilettes. You are to
consider mine as your own, my friend. All I have would be too little to
show my gratitude.”
I thanked him, but declined his offer. I was resolved to wear no
borrowed plumage, but to go as plain Jean de Brancas. Richelieu
looked at me with a smile as he joined me in the hall,--a smile of
understanding,--but he said nothing. We entered the carriage which was
waiting and were driven rapidly across the Seine. I glanced at him
anxiously. He appeared more composed than I.
There was a blockade of vehicles in the Rue St. Honoré and we could
proceed but slowly. Richelieu seemed rather to court than to shun
observation and nodded gayly to all whom he knew. But every journey
must have an end, and at last we drew up before the entrance to the
Palais Royal, crossed the court, and mounted the steps together. The
chapel was already crowded with a gay company, and they seemed to turn
their heads with one accord and look at us as we entered. Some whisper
had got abroad of Richelieu’s love for the princess, and every one was
curious to see how he would endure the ordeal. My heart leaped as I saw
him advancing with head erect and eyes sparkling, bowing gayly to right
and left. It was as I would have a brave man go to the block. He took
his station at the side of Mlle. de Charolais, the regent’s sister, in
the front rank of the spectators, and began a lively conversation with
her. I had not his confidence in my power to conceal my feelings, and
chose a less conspicuous position somewhat in the rear.
We had not long to wait. A sudden silence fell upon the crowd, and
before the altar appeared the priest, vested in surplice and white
stole. At either side of him came the acolytes and choir boys, and even
as they took their places the bridal procession entered. I who was
standing behind Richelieu saw the nervous energy with which he gripped
his sword, but his lips still smiled even when the bride, conducted by
the regent, passed in her wedding finery. I gazed at her with bated
breath. Her face was white as her wedding-gown and her eyes were
lustrous and dark and full of high purpose. I had never seen her so
beautiful.
My eyes turned from her to the lady following, and with a start I
recognized Louise. She, too, was pale, and I saw that her lips were
trembling, but she went bravely on, looking neither to the right nor to
the left. The crowd of courtiers and powdered ladies closed in behind
her, and I dimly remember hearing some one say that the ceremony was to
be the simplest possible, that the bride had so ordered it.
The murmur of the crowd died away to a whisper, to profound silence,
broken only by the voice of the priest. I felt my head whirling and my
hand trembling like a leaf. And then came the voice of the princess,
calm, clear, firm, and my eyes were wet with tears. I dared not glance
in Richelieu’s direction. I feared that even yet he might attempt to
drag her from the altar. Above the beating of my heart arose the voice
of the priest,--
“Ego conjungo vos in matrimonium, in nomine Patris, et Filii, et
Spiritus Sanctu.”
And it was done. I know not what I had expected,--a bolt from heaven,
perhaps--some warning of divine displeasure,--but in my heart I had
not until this moment believed that this marriage was to be. What
followed I do not know. I heard a confused sound of chanting far in the
distance; the odor of incense was in my nostrils. A movement in the
crowd jostled me rudely, and as the people fell back to right and left
I saw again the victim of this sacrifice, her eyes more luminous, her
face more livid, but her head no less erect, her step no less firm.
At her side was a dark and swarthy man whom I had never seen before,
but whom I knew to be the representative of the Duc de Modena, for the
marriage had been by proxy. They passed down the aisle and out of sight.
I stood as a man dazed. I could not believe that what I had witnessed
had really happened. It seemed that I must be dreaming. A touch on the
arm aroused me, and I turned to find Richelieu at my side.
“Come, my friend,” he said, smiling sadly, “I, too, have just received
an order from the regent. It is to join my regiment at Bayonne without
delay. A guard of horse awaits me at the door.”
“And you will go?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered, “I shall be glad to get away from Paris for a time.
There is nothing but sad memories here for me. You are to make my house
your home,” he continued, earnestly. “Perhaps, some time, you may even
care to join me at Bayonne. Good-by, my friend,” and as though unable
to say more, he pressed my hand and hurried towards the door.
I gazed after him until he had disappeared in the crowd, and I wondered
sadly what I should do alone in Paris. Without Richelieu and without
Louise my life would indeed be aimless and void of interest. I watched
the crowd as it gradually dispersed. More than one curious glance was
shot in my direction, but no one spoke to me, and the chapel soon
became deserted.
A voice at my side startled me.
“Monsieur has an appointment with the regent, has he not?” asked the
voice, and I turned and saw one of the ushers of the palace.
“Yes; I had forgot it,” I answered, remembering in a moment the order I
had received ere I was out of bed.
“I will conduct monsieur to the audience-chamber,” he said, and at a
gesture of assent he led the way.
“Do you know when Mlle. de Valois leaves?” I asked.
“The Duchess de Modena leaves at once for Italy to join her husband.”
“True,” I murmured, “she is no longer Mlle. de Valois,” and I followed
him in silence. I was not, then, to see Louise again. There was no room
in my heart for any other thought. I was crushed, hopeless. My guide
opened the door into the audience-chamber which I knew so well. He
stood aside and I entered. A glance showed me that the room was empty.
“The regent requests you to await him here, monsieur,” said the usher,
and closed the door.
I sank into a chair, utterly weary and disheartened. Never, even at
Poitiers, had my life appeared so barren and so fruitless. I felt
as a shipwrecked man must feel who is left alone in the midst of a
great waste of water, without a spar to cling to, without a hope of
succor,--overwhelmed, impotent, a pigmy. I comprehended dimly that I
had been struggling against a force greater than I had understood,--a
force that had brushed me aside out of its path without seeing me,--a
force against which my puny strength counted as less than nothing.
The opening of a door aroused me, and I arose as I saw the regent enter.
“Sit down, M. de Brancas,” he said, kindly, himself taking the large
chair in which he always sat. “This is to be a friendly conference,
I trust,” and he smiled at me, though, I fancied, sadly. “This is
the first time I have seen you since you dashed out of the wood with
Cartouche’s rascals at your heels, and I see that your wound is not
yet well. Believe me, monsieur, I am not ungrateful for the valor you
showed that night, and I appreciate and respect the feeling which sent
you to my rescue.”
“’Twas what any gentleman would have done,” I said, simply, and that
night seemed far away.
“’Twas what any gentleman would have tried to do, perhaps,” answered
the regent, “but which few could have accomplished. Do not belittle
yourself, M. de Brancas. I admire strong men who pause at nothing, even
though they be against me. Few could have done what you have done since
you have been in Paris.”
“And to what end?” I cried. “Everything that I have done, every hope
that I have cherished, was blown into thin air this morning.”
“There is one thing which even the bravest men assault in vain,” and
the regent’s manner had a certain majesty which became him well. “That
is the state. They may break themselves against it as they will, they
may think that they have victory within their grasp, but in the end the
state stands firm, unshaken. It cannot stop to examine every heart, M.
de Brancas. It must move steadily forward towards the goal it has in
view. Some hearts may be crushed, some lives embittered, but the state
lives, and the state is above everything.”
“But did the state demand this sacrifice?” I asked.
“The state demanded it, yes, M. de Brancas,” and a cloud descended upon
the regent’s face. “I love my daughters, monsieur. I do not delight in
torturing them. But the father must yield to the regent, just as the
man must yield to the state. I tell you plainly that no other price
could have bought the head of Richelieu. I was determined that no
member of my house--the reigning house--should continue a liaison with
a traitor. I was determined that treason should not be permitted to
conceal itself behind the throne, ready to hurl it down at any moment;
and had there been no other way, that traitor’s head should have fallen
on the Place de Greve as a warning to other traitors. But there was
another way, and it has been accomplished. A severed neck has never
been known to heal, monsieur, but broken hearts are not so fatal, for
Time is a wonderful surgeon. I will govern France with justice and
kindness if I can; but when treason raises its head, I will strike and
without mercy. Above everything, it shall be I who governs France,
and no one else. My daughter’s marriage with this Italian prince has
strengthened France, and she needs all the strength the devotion of her
subjects can give her.”
He paused for a moment, the cloud still on his brow.
“You have doubtless heard many stories about me, M. de Brancas,” he
continued. “Some of them are true, perhaps, but there is one which is
not true. It is the most monstrous of all. Chancel has made the most of
it in his last philippic.”
I knew what he meant. Indeed, I had heard Chancel reciting it at
the house of Madame du Maine, and had turned away in disgust at the
statement that Orleans aimed to poison the king and seize the throne
himself.
“Shall I tell you what is the greatest ambition of my life? It is to
place in the hands of Louis XV., when he ascends the throne, a kingdom
greater than the one which I now hold in trust; a kingdom free from
debt and from the abuses which grind the people into the earth. I may
have mistresses, M. de Brancas, but no one has ever yet been able to
say truthfully that I deliver the kingdom into their hands, as other
and greater rulers than I have done.”
He had risen as he spoke, and at these words he stood beside my chair
and laid his hand upon my shoulder. I was strangely moved. Assuredly
there was no enmity in my heart for this man, however great the sorrow
he had caused my dearest friend.
“I do not know why I tell you this,” he continued, in a calmer voice,
“unless it be that I know you for a brave and loyal gentleman, with
whom I am proud to measure myself. The bravest act of all, monsieur,
was the one you did last night in the apartments of my daughter.”
“You knew of it, then?” I asked in wonderment.
“Yes, I knew of it,” and the regent smiled with a brighter face. “My
daughter came to me after you had gone and told me of it,--not to ask
anything for herself, monsieur, but to ask something for some one else
whom she loves. And I was proud of my daughter,--how proud I cannot
tell you,--and I promised her that what she asked should be done.
Indeed, I had already thought of it before she asked.”
“But Richelieu also deserves some praise, monsieur,” I said. “He chose
the nobler part.”
“Yes, but required prompting in it,” answered the regent, quickly.
“However, he has his reward, monsieur. I had intended banishing him
as a firebrand dangerous to the peace of the kingdom. Instead, I have
merely sent him to Bayonne, and will soon release him even from there.
The reward is for others, monsieur, who behaved more nobly still.”
I gazed at him in astonishment too deep for words, for this was not the
Philip d’Orleans whom I had known and whom the world knew. This was a
handsome gentleman with smiling lips and brilliant eyes, a man whose
whole appearance was singularly winning.
“There is yet wanting one person to our conference,” he said, after a
moment. “That person will soon be here. In fact, she is coming now.”
I heard the door open behind me,--the rustle of a dress. My heart told
me who it was. I sprang from my chair and faced Louise Dacour.