THE LAST ROULEAU OF GOLD.
Zamara walked softly to Madame Du Berry’s chamber and knocked at the
door. A voice bade him come in, and he disappeared. Directly he came
back and beckoned to the dame, who was glad enough to enter the
sleeping-room of her guest. She would not have known the room in her own
house, so completely was it metamorphosed. Silken hangings fell over the
windows through which the light came, richly filling the chamber as with
a warm sunset. The only table in the room had been covered with a
scarlet cloth, on which golden scent-bottles, pomade-boxes, and caskets,
shone in gorgeous profusion. Instead of the best sheets and blankets
that her linen-closet could afford, Dame Tillery saw sheets of the
finest linen peeping out from blankets of delicate lamb’s-wool, and over
them was a coverlet of pale green satin, which swept the oaken floor
with a border of delicate embroidery.
In this bed, with her hair all loose, and her night-dress open at the
throat, lay Madame Du Berry, with all the rouge washed from her face,
and her head resting languidly on the snowy whiteness of her pillows.
She certainly had all the appearance of an invalid. The countess held
out her hand with a gentle smile.
“This is kind,” she said; “I have been so ill in the night. You are
looking at these things. It is foolish, I know, but they please me—they
have become necessary; so, when I travel, Zamara always has them ready.
I hope you are not offended.”
“Offended! Well, I was, almost! Her majesty, I think, would not have
scorned to sleep in my best room as it was.”
“Ah, dame! but she is the queen. She has everything, while I possess
nothing but old memories and habits, that make commonplace things
repulsive.”
“I do not know about it. Princes have slept in this room before now, and
never seemed to feel a want. Well, madame, if you are so dainty, the aid
of Dame Tillery can be nothing to you. I shall not take your message to
the queen, remember that.”
“Ah, dame! this is unkind.”
“I think it is only prudent.”
“Well, if you really refuse, I have nothing more to say. There was a
time when the most courageous woman in Versailles would have been afraid
to refuse a request of mine.”
“But now it would take the bravest woman in Versailles to grant a
request from the Countess Du Berry.”
“But you have courage for anything.”
“Not for that. When the Queen of France selects a favorite from the
people, she expects discretion—and that she shall find with Dame
Tillery.”
“But you have already introduced a stranger—that young girl.”
“Ah! but that is another matter; the difference here is that Madame Du
Berry is not a stranger.”
Du Berry almost laughed at the blunt frankness of this speech.
“Well, well,” she said, “if you will have nothing to do with me, I
cannot help it; but you have lost a rouleau of gold which I had already
counted out.”
Dame Tillery had evidently forgotten the gold, or she might not have
been in such haste to assert her determination. Her countenance fell;
her fat fingers worked nervously in the folds of her dress.
“Well,” she said, “tell me what the message is and I will
decide—everything depends on that.”
A mischievous smile quivered around Du Berry’s mouth, and amusement
twinkled in her eyes.
“No,” she said, “I will not embarrass you; perhaps I shall myself go to
the chateau.”
“What, you?”
“Possibly. At any rate, I will bring no one else into disrepute.”
Dame Tillery was crestfallen enough. She had expected to be argued with
and implored, but found herself utterly put aside.
“But I did not mean to be altogether unaccommodating. It was the slight
you put upon my room that aggravated me. There is not a more obliging
woman in the world than Dame Tillery, if she is a little restive at
times. So, if your message is a safe one——”
Du Berry rose to her elbow, and with her still fine hair falling around
her shoulders, drew a ponderous gold watch, flaming with jewels, from
under her pillow.
“It is getting late,” she said. “You will have scarcely time to prepare;
as for me, talking makes my head ache.”
Dame Tillery arose, feeling the poorer by a rouleau of gold.
“Madame has had no breakfast,” she said, still lingering.
“Not a morsel,” murmured Du Berry, closing her eyes with an appearance
of disgust. “I shall not eat a mouthful to-day.”
“But, shall I send nothing?”
“On the contrary, I must have profound rest. No one but Zamara need
approach me. He will understand if I want anything.”
Dame Tillery went out, feeling herself put down; but she had no time to
dwell on her disappointment. The breakfast of that dashing page had not
yet been served, and the time was fast approaching when she was to
appear at the royal chateau. She hurried down to her kitchen, saw that
the stranger’s meal was in reasonable forwardness, and then gave herself
up to the mysteries of a most wonderful toilet, in which she appeared an
hour after, armed with her fan, and rustling like a forest-tree in
October.
The dame joined her latest guest, who seated himself at the table, with
his hair freshly curled, his laces spotless as gossamer, and the ribbons
on his dress fluttering airily.
“Ah! but this is magnificent!” he said, with an affected lisp. “Who
shall say after this it is the nobility alone that understand what is
befitting the presence of royalty? Under such protection I shall be sure
of success.”
Dame Tillery had found such unthought of success in her last protégée
that she was emboldened to test her fortune again, and, being a woman,
was particularly pleased that this time her companion would be a
handsome and dashing fellow, who would not feel abashed by anything he
might see at the palace.
“You are in haste, I see,” observed the page, helping himself to the
nearest dish; “but this omelet is delicious, and I must detain you for
another plate.”
“Take your time; take plenty of time,” answered the dame, charmed that
he should have praised the dish she had herself prepared; “it will be
half an hour before her majesty can be kept waiting, so there is no
especial haste; still it is always well to be ready.”
The page finished his omelet, shook off a crumb or two of bread, that
had fallen among his ribbons, and arose.
“Pray, my good dame, glance your eyes over my person, that I may be sure
that all is right,” he said, pluming himself like a bird. “It seems to
me that this love-lock might be brought forward the fraction of an inch
with good effect. Pray let me have your judgment on the matter.”
Dame Tillery took the glossy curl between her fat thumb and finger, laid
it very daintily a little forward on the shoulder, and stood back with
her head on one side to mark the effect.
“That is perfect,” she said. “The Duke de Richelieu’s love-lock fell
just in that way when he presented us yesterday. He is a handsome man, a
little younger than you, I should think; but if I were to choose——”
“Younger than me, dame, that seems impossible. Look again.”
It seemed as if the page were determined to challenge the woman’s most
critical attention, for he went close to her that she might scrutinize
his face, and exclaimed at last,
“Now, can you persist in saying that I am not younger than the Duke de
Richelieu?”
“Well, I am not sure. At a little distance I should say no; but with the
light on your face—”
“There, there! do not say it, the very thought breaks my heart,” said
the page, interrupting her airily. “One does so hate to feel the bloom
of his youth going. But I am keeping you. It is time—it is time.”
Dame Tillery took her fan from a corner where she had placed it, and
settling all the amplitude of her garments, led the way into the street,
and sailed off toward the palace like a frigate with all her canvas set
to a stiff breeze.
The people of the town, who had by this time heard pretty generally of
her good fortune, crowded to their doors and windows to see the dame
pass. Children paused, open-mouthed, in the street, wondering at her
finery; and those who met her stood aside, as if contact with royalty
had given her some mysterious prerogatives, which they were bound to
reverence.
The dame felt all this glory with wonderful exhilaration. She bowed
graciously, right and left, as she moved on; gave one or two near
acquaintances the tips of her plump fingers in passing, and swept
through the palace gates like an empress.