UNWELCOME GUESTS.
One thing was certain, Dame Tillery never remained many minutes together
without finding something to say. Just now her mind was occupied by two
important subjects: This visit to the palace, which she had assumed the
right to make, and the arrival of a guest at The Swan, who had brought
her no little tribulation.
“Would you believe it, monsieur,” she said, addressing Jacques in the
most confidential manner, “just as I am getting on such excellent terms
with her majesty, comes an annoyance—something that threatens to bring
disaster, if not disgrace, upon our house. Last night a carriage drove
up directly from Paris, and a lady got out so quietly that I didn’t know
she was there until the carriage drove off, and she came in with a
little mite of an attendant, that woke me up to what I was risking the
minute I set eyes on him. The woman asked me for a private room. I was
just going to say that we hadn’t an empty chamber in The Swan, when she
walked up stairs, followed by her attendant, and, pushing a door open,
took possession, as if it had been her house instead of mine.
“‘Get me some supper, and see that my people are made comfortable,’ she
said, throwing her cloak off and sitting down. ‘We have had a long ride,
and are hungry.’
“She spoke like a princess, and waved her hand as if that was enough to
make any one obey her. I did not move. I knew this person. Years had
changed her; the ups and downs of life had done their work on her
face—but I knew her. Now, tell me, can you guess who the woman was?”
Monsieur Jacques moved his head impatiently.
“How should I know, dame?”
“True enough. There may be found so many women travelling from Paris to
Versailles, any day of the week, that guessing at this one might be
hard. Well, will you believe me when I say——”
Here the dame arose, drew close to Monsieur Jacques and whispered so
loud that Marguerite heard her.
“It was the Countess Du——”
“What, that infamous woman!” exclaimed Monsieur Jacques, now thoroughly
interested, “at Versailles, too? Why, it is understood that she is in
England.”
“I tell you she is in this house, with Zamara, that pestilent dwarf that
every one hated so. I saw him prowling along the passage just as you
came in.”
“But what is the woman doing here?”
“That is the question, monsieur. She looks anxious and unsettled, older,
too, and worn; but there may be found many persons at Versailles who
would know her at the first sight, and some of them would not mind doing
her an injury. The truth is, I tremble to think that this person is
under my roof. If the queen should hear of it, that would be the end of
my visit to the Swiss cottages.”
“But she must have some strong motive for venturing so near the court,
dame; this woman, who comes from the dregs of the people, is worse than
an aristocrat. It was her cruelty that choked up the Bastille with
innocent victims. With her malice and her beauty she ruled the old king,
and oppressed his people, till they hate her even yet when her power is
gone.”
“Well, as I was saying, she wanted supper, and I ordered the best of
everything; went into the kitchen myself and made a delicate patty with
my own hands, for she has pleasant ways; and I saw that a purse, which
she held in her hand, was heavy with gold. When she had eaten and drank
a glass of wine, the anxious look went out from her face, and she
insisted that I should sit down and sip a glass of wine with her. Well,
this was a change—I can remember when it was almost as much as one’s
life was worth to approach her without leave. I sat down. Why not? The
queen had permitted it in her presence, and I had no need to be afraid
of this woman who would not dare to present herself before her majesty.
Thinking all this, I took the glass she offered and drank the wine,
waiting quietly to learn what she wanted of me.
“Well, she began by asking questions about the townspeople; then spoke
of the court, and wanted to know the smallest things that was going on.
I told her everything. Why not? There is no secret about it. The king is
getting more and more unpopular every day—the people will not trust him;
and they hate the queen—yes, hate is the word; while I, yes, since
yesterday, I adore him. They do not understand; but the time will come
when Dame Tillery will enlighten them——”
“But you were speaking of this woman,” said Jacques, impatiently. “She
was questioning you about their majesties.”
“I was about to say that, monsieur, when you interrupted me; but it was
all questions—not a morsel of news did she give me in return; and when
she had got all out of me that I had to tell, the politeness with which
she permitted me to withdraw was enough to aggravate a saint. Now this
is what I want to know—what brings the woman here? Her coming is an
insult to the people. They hated her when she lived here, and they hate
her worse now, for she was of the nobility only by the fraud of a
marriage, and was always hard and cruel to the class she first
disgraced, then left.”
“For a higher range of infamy!” muttered Monsieur Jacques.
“Exactly,” answered Dame Tillery. “That is why her coming here seems so
wonderful; but her impudence is something beyond belief. It is not so
very long since she came here one moonlight evening, when the great
waters were all aflow, and seated herself, side by side, with her
majesty. The whole town rang with this audacious boldness; but the queen
knew nothing about it, I am told, and never dreamed that the lady who
sat so quietly beside her, not once looking out from behind her veil,
was, in fact, the Countess Du Berry, a creature from whom she had always
turned her eyes in scorn while she was Dauphiness of France.”
Here Dame Tillery ceased walking up and down the room, and closed the
huge fan, which had waved faster and faster as she grew more angry and
vehement, using it now as a baton.
“I hear a knock at the door,” she said. “It is the voice of that young
man, the duke. Do not be frightened, mademoiselle—remember, I am with
you.”
Marguerite did not hear these encouraging words; her eyes were fixed on
the door, her breath came hurriedly. She knew that the most important
event of her life was approaching, and the terror of it made her pale
and faint.
Monsieur Jacques arose, took his cap from the table, and stood ready for
anything that might arise.
As these three persons waited in breathless expectation, the Duke de
Richelieu entered the room.
“Come,” he said, addressing Marguerite, “their majesties will see you.”