MADAME
ROXHYTHE proceeded to Paris in a blaze of magnificence, and on his
arrival went at once to the Louvre, to the apartments of M. le Comte de
Saint-Aignan. The doors flew open before him, and he was ushered into
the private room of M. le Comte.
The room was furnished sumptuously and was much gilded. M. le Comte,
swathed in a marvellous satin wrapper, was reposing on a silken-covered
divan. In one hand he had a book of poems; the other was held by his
valet, who knelt at his side, manicuring monsieur’s delicate nails.
The air was heavy with some sweet scent; a fire burned in the grate.
On every embroidered seat were cushions; the rugs that covered the
polished floor were very thick and soft.
When Roxhythe was announced the Comte dropped his book in surprise and
swung his legs to the ground.
“_Mon Dieu!_ Roxhyt’e!”
Roxhythe came forward gracefully.
“If I am very inopportune, say so, my dear Comte.”
“Inopportune! _Mais non!_ How could such a thing be?” cried
Saint-Aignan. He rose, and clasped my lord’s hand. Over his shoulder
he addressed the valet. “François, you may go. Tell them to see to
monsieur’s apartments and his baggage. _Vite!_”
“_Oui, monsieur._” The man slipped out.
Saint-Aignan drew his guest to a chair.
“But sit down, _mon cher_! Why are you here?”
Roxhythe put his hat on the table. He cast the Comte a quizzical glance.
“My dear Henri, you know as well, perhaps better, than I do myself.”
The Comte made a little gesture of protest.
“Roxhyt’e! So blunt! So brusque!”
“I cry your pardon! You want a pretty phrase, eh? Well, I have come on
account of the _beaux yeux_ of Madame.”
“Oh, that!” The Comte threw out his hands. “It will suffice. They think
that in England?”
“I really don’t know. It is quite likely.”
“They do not know you in England? Not even now?”
“Henri, you are a rogue. Do you think that you know me?”
“_Mais oui! Tu es un grand poseur, mon ami!_”
“Then they know me in England?”
“No. They do not think you an intriguer.”
Roxhythe drew out his comfit-box.
“Let me offer you a sweetmeat!”
The Comte accepted one smiling.
“You find that a good way to turn the subject?”
“An excellent way. I have never known it fail.”
“Except with me!”
“Oh, you! You are incorrigible, Henri! But do strive to remember that I
am an idle _flâneur_!”
“I will try. You do not intend to confide in me?”
“But certainly! I bought these quite modish boots at Piccat’s. My
gloves I obtained with much difficulty at Dormont’s. You’ll observe the
gold fringe with the blue entwined. I conceived the idea. So now we
have gloves à la Roxhythe. I have my uses, you see.”
The Comte could not resist inspecting the gloves. He did it
surreptitiously and pretended that he was not interested.
“_Peste!_ What do I want with your gloves? _Va donc!_ You’ve
naught to tell me of your business in Paris?”
“You’ll hear it all from His Majesty. Why plague me?”
Saint-Aignan almost pouted.
“You are as secret as the dead. _Eh bien!_ Tell me of your cold,
dark city. What of Whitehall?”
“The same as ever. And the cold, dark city is very bright and
spring-like.”
“_C’est vrai?_ Ah! Roxhyt’e!” He straightened in his chair.
“Well, what now?” My lord looked lazily across at him.
“How dared you stay with de Guiche last month? Why did you not come
here as before?”
“Two reasons.”
“Give them, _vaurien_! You will be abominably rude, I know!”
“I shall. Firstly, de Guiche showed a marked desire for my company;
secondly, I had little or no desire for yours. Are you satisfied?”
“_Parfaitement!_” The Comte’s mobile face was wreathed in smiles.
“Inimitable one! And for how long do you intend to honour me?”
“I am not sure. Not more than ten days. Can you bear with me so long as
that?”
“I could bear with you for much longer. You refresh me. You have made
your bow to the King?”
“No, I came straight to you.”
“Ah, you must go to His Majesty! He will be delighted to see you again.
I tell you, Roxhyt’e, it is only in France that you are appreciated.”
“Oh, no! They appreciate me in England, I assure you.”
“A maker of gloves! Bah! I shall take you with me to-night.”
Roxhythe turned an inquiring eye upon him.
“To the levée,” nodded Saint-Aignan.
Roxhythe sighed.
“I believe I shall be indisposed. Your Grand Monarcque is so damned
austere.”
Saint-Aignan laughed at him.
“That will be good for you, _mon cher_! A change from your King,
eh?”
“Yes,” said Roxhythe. “King Charles, thank God, is not of a strenuous
disposition.”
“But you will come?”
Roxhythe rose. He smiled down at the brisk Comte.
“For the good of my soul,” he bowed.
He went to the levée, gorgeously clad in silver and pale blue, with
slashings of rose-pink. Even the critical Saint-Aignan was pleased to
approve of his costume. He observed that Roxhythe “took the eye.”
His Majesty was very gracious. He allowed Roxhythe to kiss his hand,
and he stayed for some moments to talk to him. Then he pursued his
regal way, an imposing little figure, bearing himself with all the
haughtiness, the sublime magnificence that characterised him.
Roxhythe always protested that His Most Christian Majesty was a figure
of fun, but in his heart he must have respected him, although he never
acknowledged it. He remarked, when pressed, that Louis tickled his
sense of humour.
When the King left him my lord paid some extravagant compliments to
the La Vallière, under the eye of Madame de Montespan, for whom he
possessed some strange fascination, until that eye was flaming with
anger. Then he left La Vallière, and paid still more extravagant
compliments to La Montespan, to the amusement of Mademoiselle. After
that he disappeared in the wake of de Guiche, and was next seen in
attendance on Mademoiselle de Foucheron, one of the Queen’s ladies.
Monsieur, as was called the Duc d’Orléans, strolled across the room,
saw Roxhythe, exclaimed at him, and claimed his attention. Roxhythe’s
boredom grew. He did not find the King’s brother entertaining. He
presently departed, taking with him one Philippe de Courcillon, Marquis
de Dangeau. He appeared no more that evening.
Saint-Aignan found him in elegant déshabillé, in his room, some hours
later.
“_Mais, mon ami!_ Madame has been asking for you!”
“Alas!” Roxhythe sat down. “I met Monsieur instead.”
“Madame did not arrive until an hour later. I told her you were
fatigued from your journey and had retired early. And why did you drag
de Courcillon with you? _Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, tu es incorrigible!_”
“Oh? Was it not permitted? De Courcillon amuses me. We went into the
gardens and exchanged reminiscences. I never believe in outstaying my
welcome.”
Saint-Aignan caught sight of himself in the glass.
“I am not satisfied with this wig,” he mused. “It lacks that
indescribable something--My dear Marquis, you could not outstay your
welcome, but certain it is that every one is ten thousand times more
intrigued to see you now that you are gone. It is very curious.”
“No, very natural. I never stay longer than an hour at a levée.”
Saint-Aignan started to laugh.
“_Pardieu, Roxhyt’e! Que tu es amusant!_ And they tolerate you at
Whitehall? La-la! That is why they call you enigmatical! Because you do
things that no one else dare dream of doing! And you have not offended
to-night! No. ‘_Voila_,’ they say.--‘_C’est Roxhyt’e!_’
_Oh, grand poseur!_”
“Go to bed,” smiled my lord. “You fatigue me!”
“I would you might stay here an hundred years,” continued Saint-Aignan.
“I should never weary of you!” He went out, still chuckling.
Roxhythe arrived at the Palais Royal next afternoon, and inquired for
Madame.
The lackey shook his head.
“Madame does not receive this afternoon, monsieur.”
Roxhythe tapped his comfit-box with an impatient finger.
“My friend, you are not acquainted with me. I am Roxhythe.”
The man bowed at once.
“Pardon, milor’! If milor’ will enter, I will inform Madame. Madame has
said she will receive milor’.”
Roxhythe was shown into a great room over-looking the courtyard.
After a few moments the lackey returned.
“If milor’ will deign to follow me....”
He led Roxhythe up the grand staircase, and across the hall, to a
smaller room which was Madame’s private salon.
The Duchesse rose at his entry, and extended her hand.
“I have been expecting you, my lord.”
Roxhythe bowed, carrying her fingers to his lips. If he ever bent the
knee to a woman, that woman was Henrietta Stuart, Duchesse d’Orléans.
“I am honoured, Madame.”
She waved him to a chair, and made a sign to her lady-in-waiting to
leave the room. The lady went out, gracefully.
“Sit down near me! _C’est cela!_ Tell me, did you recognize my
_demoiselle d’honneur_?”
Roxhythe frowned.
“Was she with you at Dunkirk, Madame?”
“And in London. You do not remember?”
“On the contrary. Mademoiselle de Kéroualle. His Majesty conceived a
liking for her.”
Madame’s great eyes scanned his face.
“Mademoiselle desires to join the Court at Whitehall.”
Roxhythe’s lips twitched.
“I see. Well, you have chosen a fit envoy.”
“So I think. Charles will permit it?”
“No doubt he will be delighted.”
Madame had charming dimples. She showed them now.
“He is a sad man,” she said. “Poor Charles!” The dimples vanished.
“Well--M. Colbert de Croissy informs us that His Majesty--considers.”
“What I admire about M. Colbert is his careful truth,” remarked
Roxhythe.
“Then His Majesty has not come to a decision?”
“By no means. Subject to certain conditions he will give the matter his
serious consideration.”
“Ah!” Madame pulled a cushion into place. “Go on, Roxhythe.”
My lord chose and ate a comfit with great deliberation. Then he snapped
the box and put it away.
“Madame, you must forgive me an I weary you, but I wish to come to
an understanding. You’ll permit me to go back a little. In February
as you know, M. Colbert was granted an audience at Whitehall. There
were present, His Majesty, His Grace of York, Sir Thomas Clifford, and
myself. M. Colbert laid before us as prettily worded a scheme as it has
ever been my lot to listen to. The second thing I admire in M. Colbert
is his capacity for vague terms. The proposition that he unfolded was
rosy in hue--for England. The only point where we were left in the
dark regarded France. His Majesty was, and still is, curious to know in
what way France stands to profit by the alliance.”
“Did M. Colbert not tell you?” evaded Madame.
“M. Colbert showed himself most astute except in one point. That was
his estimation of King Charles. He did not give him credit for any
brain, Madame.”
“M. Colbert knows that His Majesty is--very wise.”
“Then he did not intend to flatter him by showing that knowledge. He
gave us fair words but he omitted to tell us exactly what it is that
France requires of England.”
“Perhaps he thought His Majesty astute enough to guess that.”
“It may be so. But, Madame, it is not King Charles his custom to sign
treaties on supposition.”
“Roxhythe, did I not tell you myself? Why recall all this?”
“Madame,” he answered, bowing. “I have always said that you were born
to be a politician. You also gave me vague explanations and fair words.
I want plain speaking; that is why I recall it. Till now you have
refused to speak plainly.”
She sat still, twisting the cushion tassel about her finger.
“You are very bold, my lord.”
“Your pardon, Madame, no. Rather ’tis you and King Louis who are bold
to seek to cozen my master.”
Her irrepressible smile peeped out.
“I think perhaps you are right, Roxhythe. I will be more explicit.”
Again he bowed.
“King Louis is at war with Holland. At any moment he may be called upon
to war with Spain. France is very powerful; she can easily support the
cost of these wars. But ...” Madame looked up. “... She must be assured
that England will not enter into the conflict on Holland’s side. That
might--I say might, Roxhythe--turn the scale. Louis is cautious. He
does not want to run the risk of defeat. So he seeks to bring about
this treaty. You know all this.”
“Yes, Madame, but I wanted it from your own lips. This war with
Spain--I gather it would only come in the event of the Spanish King’s
death?”
“That is so. The matter is very near to Louis’ heart.”
“So I apprehend. Now, M. Colbert spoke with his engaging airiness of
wars. He told us that King Louis would require England to aid him in
these wars. Does this apply to the possible war with Spain?”
“Of course it does.”
“I wonder if King Louis ever gave the Triple Bond his attention?”
“Why?”
“Because if he had carefully read that bond he would have seen that
England has promised to hold Spain inviolate.”
“He knows that.”
“Yet he proposes this?”
“Roxhythe, the whole of this treaty is a violation of the Triple Bond!
Why cavil at that one point?”
“That one point, Madame, is direct. The rest is vague, and might be
termed a violation. This is too positive.”
“You want it kept out of the treaty?”
“I do. It is no matter to King Charles whether or no France usurps the
throne of Spain. But it is possible that Clifford and Arlington might
not see eye to eye with His Majesty there. Can you not employ one of
those vague terms, Madame?”
“To leave a loop-hole for Charles? Roxhythe, Roxhythe!”
“All I ask is that you do not specify any particular war. You may
make it as blind as you please, but pray have a thought for Messieurs
Clifford and Arlington their scruples.”
“They must know what it is that Louis hath in his mind?”
“They know, yes. But they can shut their eyes to the obvious so long as
it is not made too obvious.”
Her laughter bubbled over.
“How wise you are, Roxhythe! I will tell King Louis. Is that all you
want with me?”
“I fear I am trespassing on your time, Madame. It is not all. There are
two more points.”
She sighed.
“Let us have the first.”
“The first, Madame, is the point on which you have--pardon
me--consistently evaded me. You say that King Louis wishes to see the
Catholic religion furthered in England. He also wishes England to join
him in subduing the Provinces.”
“The two are not incompatible,” said Madame.
Roxhythe smiled a little.
“Are they not, Madame? Yet I think you will agree that they cannot both
be done at one and the same time.”
Madame twitched her gown with fingers that trembled.
“Roxhythe, I am tired of this subject.”
“And I, Madame. Therefore I wished to have the question settled. His
Majesty stipulates that the furtherance of Catholicism in England shall
precede war with the Dutch.”
“Yes, Roxhythe. And King Louis stipulates that war with the Dutch shall
come first.”
“I am sorry. May I state my case?”
“Please do.”
“It is this: by making England Catholic once more King Charles his
position is strengthened. He may then safely enter into hostilities
against Holland. If he does so now there will be uproar in the Houses,
perhaps discovery of this compact; even failure.”
Madame looked up. She scanned Roxhythe’s face thoughtfully.
“My lord, you have known my brother for many years.”
“I have had that honour, Madame.”
“I also have known him for many years.”
“Yes, Madame?”
“Yes, Roxhythe. I know that he is astute; I see that he wishes to
avoid war with Holland; I know too that this desire for Catholicism
is a blind to King Louis, and possibly a sop to my brother James his
scruples. King Charles can twist and dupe his Parliament with the
utmost ease. Am I right?”
“Not entirely, Madame. My argument still stands.”
“Because of James?”
“No. It is King Charles his wish.”
Madame bit her lip. She seemed to consider.
“So I am to bear that message to King Louis?”
“I shall be greatly indebted to you if you will, Madame.”
“I think I will do it, Roxhythe. And we shall see. Is that all?”
“I am very tiresome, Madame. There is still the second point.”
Suddenly her gravity left her. She threw out her hands, laughing.
“I know what is coming now!” she despaired. “_Mordieu_, I’ll never
act intermediary again! The price!”
Roxhythe did not smile.
“An all important question, Madame.”
She folded her hands.
“Proceed.”
“M. Colbert--I think I told you of my admiration for his vagueness?”
“Chut!” she reproved him.
“I thought so. M. Colbert spoke of the bribe--no, I beg your
pardon--the allowance that King Louis wished to offer my master. We
were both surprised and gratified to hear of this matter. But M.
Colbert contrived and still contrives to leave us unsatisfied after
all. He forgot to mention figures. I fear he is very absent-minded,
Madame.”
“Did I not mention figures when you last were here?” asked Madame.
“I have no recollection of it. I remember you gave vent to some
pleasantry on the subject.”
“Pleasantry, sir?”
“I believe so. You spoke of sixty thousand pounds, or some such trifle.”
“That was no pleasantry, Roxhythe.”
My lord’s brows rose.
“I did you the honour to treat it as such, Madame.”
Madame studied the cushion tassel.
“Well? What does Charles want?”
“He will sign your treaty, Madame, for the annual allowances of two
hundred thousand pounds paid quarterly. No less.”
Madame bit her lip.
“Impossible!”
Roxhythe took up his hat.
“In that case, Madame, we are wasting time. The negotiations need
proceed no further.” He rose as he spoke.
Madame raised her hands.
“Oh, la-la! So haughty? No, no, sit down, Roxhythe! We must talk of
this.”
Roxhythe relaxed again.
“What is there to talk of, Madame? Those are King Charles his terms. It
but remains for you to put them before King Louis.”
“Shall we be quite honest?” said Madame, sweetly. “You name that
figure--why?”
“It seems a fair price,” answered Roxhythe. “Or do you want me to be
really honest?”
“I said so.”
“Very well. I am, as I was informed the other day, very quick to take
impressions. I received one from you that led me to advise my master to
ask that sum of Louis.”
“Aho! I wondered if you were as stupidly obtuse as you appeared. It
seems you are not. I felicitate you, my lord. But I do not think I gave
you such a decided impression.”
“You gave me to understand that Louis was prepared to go to a far
greater sum than sixty thousand. The rest I gathered from mine own
intuition, and various other sources.”
“My Lord Roxhythe, you are either a very clever man or else a fool. I
do not think that Louis will go to that figure. One hundred thousand
perhaps. But two hundred thousand! It is a very different matter.”
“You will see, Madame. It is King Charles his last word.”
She looked at him admiringly.
“You have unbounded confidence in yourself, Roxhythe. Do you tell me
that that is my brother his last word? I seem to see your hand alone in
it. You must be very sure.”
“I am very sure,” he replied.
“So was Lord Arundell sure when he asked two million.”
“But I, Madame, am not Lord Arundell.”
“No,” she sighed. “I would you were. You are quite certain?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Then we understand one another. I’ll give--King Charles his last
word--to Louis. You are satisfied?”
He rose.
“Since I am assured of your support in the matter, yes, Madame.”
“You are audacity itself,” she said. “Will you wait on me--no, I’ll
send you word what day. Are you staying with de Guiche as before?”
“No,” said my lord, possessing himself of her hand. “This time I am
honouring Saint-Aignan.”
“How truly delightful for him!” she retaliated. “Well, you shall hear
from me.”
Roxhythe kissed her hand.
“I shall await your commands, Madame. I have to thank you for receiving
me to-day.”
“Did you see Madame?” asked Saint-Aignan of him, two hours later.
“I did,” said Roxhythe.
“Well? What of the interview?”
“She is the most charming, beautiful lady that I have ever known,”
replied my lord.
“I consider that you have offered me your comfit-box!” laughed
Saint-Aignan. “I am dumb, then?”
Roxhythe nodded approvingly.
“You should never give way to idle curiosity,” he said. He surveyed
his friend critically. “And I do not think I like the mixture of
salmon-pink and orange.”