Part 23

— My lord has about him people more entertaining than I could ever be. I feel no strength to contend, I have withdrawn.

— All this reserve makes no sense. Who are these people you will not contend with? Guiche?

— I name no one.

— It is absurd! Guiche troubles you?

— I do not say that, my lord; do not make me speak: you know well that de Guiche is among our good friends.

— Who, then?

— For mercy's sake, my lord, let us drop the subject, I beg of you.

The chevalier knew well that one irritates curiosity as one irritates thirst, by removing the draught or the explanation.

— No, I will know why you disappeared.

— Well! I shall tell you; but take it not amiss.

— Speak.

— I perceived that I was in the way.

— Whose way?

— Madame's.

— How so? said the duke, astonished.

— It is very simple: Madame is perhaps jealous of the attachment you are pleased to bear me.

— Does she show it you?

— My lord, Madame never addresses a word to me, especially of late.

— What time?

— Since M. de Guiche found more favor with her than I, and she receives him at all hours.

The duke blushed.

— At all hours… What manner of word is that, chevalier? he said severely.

— You see well, my lord, that I have displeased you; I was sure of it.

— You do not displease me, but you say things a little sharply. In what does Madame prefer Guiche to you?

— I shall say no more, said the chevalier with a bow full of ceremony.

— On the contrary, I intend that you speak. If you withdrew for that reason, you are then very jealous?

— One must be jealous when one loves, my lord; is not Your Highness jealous of Madame? would not Your Highness, if she always saw someone near Madame, and that someone favored, take offense? One loves one's friends as one's loves. Your Royal Highness has sometimes done me the signal honor of calling me his friend.

— Yes, yes, but there is again an equivocal word; chevalier, you have an unhappy way of talking.

— What word, my lord?

— You said: Favored… What do you mean by favored?

— Nothing but what is very simple, my lord, said the chevalier with great good-nature. Thus, for example, when a husband sees his wife call such or such a man preferably near her; when that man is always found at the head of her bed or at the window of her carriage; when there is always a little place for that man's foot within the circle of the lady's skirts; when people meet beyond the call of conversation; when her bouquet is of the color of his ribbons; when the music is in the chamber and the suppers in the alcoves; when, the husband appearing, all falls silent in the wife; when the husband finds suddenly for companion the most assiduous, the most tender of men, who, a week before, seemed least his… then…

— Then, finish.

— Then, I say, my lord, that one is perhaps jealous; but all these details are out of place, our conversation has nothing to do with them.

The duke was visibly agitated and struggling with himself.

— You do not tell me, he ended by saying, why you drew away. Just now you said it was for fear of being in the way, you added even that you had noticed on Madame's part a leaning to frequent a de Guiche.

— Ah! my lord, I did not say that.

— You did.

— But if I said it, I saw nothing there but what was innocent.

— In short, you saw something?

— My lord embarrasses me.

— What matter! speak. If you tell the truth, why be embarrassed?

— I always tell the truth, my lord, but I always hesitate too when it is a question of repeating what others say.

— Ah! you repeat… It seems someone spoke then?

— I confess I was spoken to.

— By whom?

The chevalier assumed an almost angry air.

— My lord, said he, you subject me to a question, you treat me like a prisoner at the bar… and the rumors that merely graze a gentleman's ear do not linger there. Your Highness would have me swell the rumor to the height of an event.

— In short, cried the duke with vexation, one constant fact is that you withdrew because of that rumor.

— I must tell the truth: I was spoken to of M. de Guiche's attentions to Madame, nothing more; an innocent pleasure, I repeat, and moreover permitted; but, my lord, be not unjust and do not push things to excess. It is no concern of yours.

— It is no concern of mine that people speak of Guiche's attentions at Madame's?…

— No, my lord, no; and what I tell you, I would tell to de Guiche himself, so fair do I see the court he pays Madame; I would tell it to her herself. Only you understand what I fear? I fear to pass for a jealous man of favor, when I am but a jealous man of friendship. I know your weakness, I know that when you love, you are exclusive. Now, you love Madame, and besides who would not love her? Follow well the circle I walk in: Madame has distinguished among your friends the handsomest and most attractive; she will influence you concerning him in such a way that you will neglect the others. A slight from you would kill me; it is enough already to endure those of Madame. I have therefore taken my part, my lord, to yield the place to the favorite whose happiness I envy, while professing for him a sincere friendship and a sincere admiration. Come, have you anything against this reasoning? Is it that of a man of honor? Is the conduct that of a brave friend? Answer at least, you who have questioned me so roughly.

The duke had sat down; he held his head in both hands and ravaged his headdress. After a silence long enough for the chevalier to appreciate all the effect of his oratorical combinations, Monseigneur rose again.

— Come, said he, and be frank.

— As always.

— Good! You know we have already remarked something concerning that madman Buckingham.

— Oh! my lord, accuse not Madame, or I take my leave of you. What! you turn to such systems? what, you suspect?

— No, no, chevalier, I suspect not Madame; but in short… I see… I compare…

— Buckingham was a fool!

— A fool upon whom you perfectly opened my eyes.

— No! no! said the chevalier quickly, it was not I who opened your eyes, it was de Guiche. Oh! let us not confound things.

And he began to laugh that strident laugh which resembles the hiss of a snake.

— Yes, yes, indeed… you say a few words, but Guiche showed himself the more jealous.

— I should think so, continued the chevalier in the same tone; he fought for hearth and home.

— What's that? said the duke imperiously, revolted by this perfidious pleasantry.

— Doubtless, is not M. de Guiche the first gentleman of your household?

— In short, replied the duke somewhat calmer, this passion of Buckingham had been remarked?

— Certainly!

— Well! is it said that M. de Guiche's is remarked as much?

— But, my lord, you fall back again; it is not said that M. de Guiche has a passion.

— Enough! enough!

— You see, my lord, it was a hundred times better to leave me in my retirement than to go forging with my scruples suspicions which Madame will regard as crimes, and she will be right.

— What will you do, you?

— A reasonable thing.

— Which?

— I would pay no further heed to the society of these new epicureans, and thus the rumors would die.

— I will see, I will consult myself.

— Oh! you have time, the danger is not great, and then it is a question neither of danger nor of passion; it is a question of a fear I had of seeing your friendship for me grow weak. As soon as you restore it to me with so gracious an assurance, I have no other thought in my head.

The duke shook his head, as if to say: "If you have no more thoughts, I have some."

But the dinner hour having arrived, Monseigneur sent to warn Madame. It was answered that Madame could not attend the grand couvert and would dine in her own rooms.

— It is not my fault, said the duke; this morning, falling amid all their music, I played the jealous husband, and I am being given the cold shoulder.

— We shall dine alone, said the chevalier with a sigh; I regret Guiche.

— Oh! de Guiche will not sulk long, he is good-natured.

— My lord, said the chevalier suddenly, a good idea comes to me: just now, in our conversation, I may have embittered Your Highness and given you suspicions concerning him. It befits that I be the mediator… I shall go in search of the count and bring him back.

— Ah! chevalier, you are a good soul.

— You say that as if surprised.

— Why! you are not tender every day.

— Be it; but I know how to repair a wrong I have done, admit it.

— I admit it.

— Will Your Highness do me the grace to wait here a few moments?

— Gladly, go… I shall try on my Fontainebleau clothes.

The chevalier departed, he called his people with great care, as if giving them various orders.

All set off in different directions; but he kept back his valet de chambre.

— Learn, said he, and learn at once whether M. de Guiche is not with Madame. See; how to know that?

— Easily, monsieur le chevalier; I shall ask Malicorne, who will know from Mlle de Montalais. Yet I must say the inquiry will be vain, for all M. de Guiche's people have left: the master must have left with them.

— Inform yourself, nevertheless.

Ten minutes had not elapsed when the valet de chambre returned. He drew his master mysteriously into a service stairway, and made him enter a small chamber whose window looked out upon the garden.

— What is it? said the chevalier; why so many precautions?

— Look, monsieur, said the valet de chambre.

— At what?

— Look beneath the chestnut tree, below.

— Well… Ah! my God! I see Manicamp waiting; what does he wait for?

— You shall see, if you have patience… There! do you see now?

— I see one, two, four musicians with their instruments, and behind them, pushing them, de Guiche in person. But what does he there?

— He waits for the door of the ladies'-in-waiting stair to be opened; he will go up thereby to Madame's, where a new music is to be heard during dinner.

— It is superb, what you tell me.

— Is it not, monsieur?

— And it is M. Malicorne who told you this?

— Himself.

— He loves you then?

— He loves Monsieur.

— Why?

— Because he wishes to be of his household.

— 'Sdeath! he shall be. How much did he give you for this?

— The secret I sell you, monsieur.

— I pay you a hundred pistoles. Take!

— Thank you, monsieur… Do you see, the small door opens, a woman brings in the musicians…

— Is it Montalais?

— Softly, monsieur, cry not that name; who says Montalais says Malicorne. If you quarrel with one, you will be ill with the other.

— Good, I saw nothing.

— And I received nothing, said the valet, carrying off the purse.

The chevalier, having certainty that de Guiche had entered, returned to Monsieur, whom he found splendidly clad and radiant with joy as with beauty.

— It is said, he cried, that the king takes the sun for his device; truly, my lord, it is to you that this device would belong.

— And Guiche?

— Unfindable! He has fled, he has evaporated. Your morning altercation startled him. He was not found at home.

— Bah! that cracked brain is capable of having taken post for his estates. Poor boy! we shall recall him, never fear. Let us dine.

— My lord, it is the day of ideas; I have another.

— Which?

— My lord, Madame gives you the cold shoulder, and she is right. You owe her a reparation; go dine with her.

— Oh! that is of a weak husband.

— It is of a good husband. The princess is bored: she will weep into her plate, her eyes will be red. A husband is odious who reddens his wife's eyes. Come, my lord, come!

— No, my service is engaged here.

— Come, come, my lord, we shall be sad; I shall have a heavy heart knowing Madame is alone; you, fierce as you would be, you will sigh. Take me to Madame's dinner, and it will be a charming surprise. I wager we shall be diverted; you were wrong this morning.

— Perhaps so.

— There is no perhaps, it is a fact.

— Chevalier, chevalier! you counsel me ill.

— I counsel you well, you are at your advantage: your thought-colored habit, embroidered with gold, becomes you divinely. Madame will be yet more subdued by the man than by the deed. Come, my lord.

— You decide me, let us go.

The duke went out with the chevalier from his apartment, and directed himself toward Madame's.

The chevalier slipped these words into his valet's ear:

— People before the small door! Let none escape thereby! Run.

And behind the duke he reached the antechambers of Madame.

The ushers were about to announce.

— Let none stir, said the chevalier laughing, Monseigneur wishes to make a surprise.

Chapter CVI — Monsieur is jealous of Guiche

Monsieur entered abruptly like those who have a good intention and believe they give pleasure, or like those who hope to surprise some secret, sad windfall of the jealous.

Madame, intoxicated by the first measures of the music, danced like a madwoman, leaving there her begun dinner.

Her dancer was M. de Guiche, arms in the air, eyes half closed, knee to the ground, like those Spanish dancers with voluptuous glances and caressing gesture.

The princess turned about him with the same smile and the same provocative seduction.

Montalais admired. La Vallière, seated in a corner, looked on all dreamy.

It is impossible to express the effect produced upon these happy folk by the presence of Monsieur. It would be quite as impossible to express the effect produced upon Philippe by the sight of these happy folk.

The count de Guiche had not the strength to rise; Madame remained in the midst of her step and her attitude, without power to articulate a word.

The chevalier de Lorraine, leaning against the doorframe, smiled like a man plunged in the most naive admiration.

The pallor of the prince, the convulsive trembling of his hands and legs were the first symptoms that struck the bystanders. A profound silence succeeded the noise of the dance.

The chevalier de Lorraine profited by this interval to come salute respectively Madame and de Guiche; affecting to confound them in his reverences, as the two masters of the house.

Monsieur, approaching in his turn:

— I am enchanted, said he in a hoarse voice; I arrived here believing to find you sick and sad, I find you given to new pleasures; truly, it is fortunate! My house is the merriest in the universe.

Turning toward de Guiche:

— Count, said he, I knew not you were so brave a dancer.

Then, returning to his wife:

— Be kinder to me, said he with a bitterness that veiled his anger; each time one makes merry at your house, invite me… I am a much-neglected prince.

De Guiche had recovered all his assurance, and, with a natural pride that became him well:

— My lord, said he, knows well that all my life is at his service; when it is a question of giving it, I am ready; for today it is only a question of dancing to the violins, I dance.

— And you are right, said the prince coldly. And then, Madame, continued he, you do not remark that your ladies rob me of my friends: M. de Guiche is not yours, madame, he is mine. If you would dine without me, you have your ladies. When I dine alone, I have my gentlemen; do not quite strip me.

Madame felt the reproach and the lesson.

The blush mounted suddenly to her eyes.

— Monsieur, replied she, I knew not, on coming to the court of France, that princesses of my rank should be considered as Turkish women. I knew not that it was forbidden to see men; but, since such is your will, I shall conform; do not constrain yourself if you would have my windows grilled.

This retort, which made Montalais and de Guiche smile, brought back into the prince's heart the anger, a good part of which had just evaporated in words.

— Very well! said he in a concentrated tone, that is how I am respected in my own house!

— My lord! my lord! murmured the chevalier in Monsieur's ear, so that all might well remark he was moderating him.

— Come! replied the duke as sole answer, dragging him off and pirouetting with a brusque movement, at the risk of striking Madame.

The chevalier followed his master even into the apartment, where the prince was scarcely seated than he gave free course to his fury.

The chevalier raised his eyes to heaven, joined his hands and said not a word.

— Your advice? cried Monsieur.

— On what, my lord?

— On all that passes here.

— Oh! my lord, it is grave.

— It is odious! life cannot pass thus.

— See, how unfortunate! said the chevalier. We hoped for tranquillity after the departure of that fool Buckingham.

— And it is worse!

— I do not say that, my lord.

— No, but I say it, for Buckingham would never have dared do the quarter of what we have seen.

— What then?

— To hide to dance, to feign an indisposition to dine tete-a-tete.

— Oh! my lord, no! no!

— Yes! yes! cried the prince, exciting himself like willful children; but I shall endure it no longer, it must be known what passes.

— My lord, a scene…

— 'Sdeath! must I constrain myself when one constrains oneself so little with me? Wait for me here, chevalier, wait for me!

The prince disappeared into the next chamber, and inquired of the usher whether the queen mother had returned from the chapel.

Anne of Austria was happy: peace returned to her family hearth, a whole people charmed by the presence of a young sovereign well-disposed to great things, the revenues of the State increased, external peace assured, all foretold her a tranquil future.

She recovered herself at times at the memory of that poor young man whom she had received as a mother and banished as a stepmother.

A sigh completed her thought. Suddenly the duke of Orleans entered her rooms.

— My mother, he cried, closing the portieres quickly, things cannot subsist thus.

Anne of Austria raised on him her beautiful eyes, and, with an unalterable gentleness:

— Of what thing would you speak? said she.

— I would speak of Madame.

— Your wife?

— Yes, my mother.

— I wager that fool Buckingham wrote her some farewell letter.

— Ah indeed, my mother, is it a question of Buckingham!

— And of whom then? For that poor boy was wrongly the mark of your jealousy, and I believed…

— My mother, Madame has already replaced M. de Buckingham.

— Philippe, what do you say? You utter light words there.

— Not at all, not at all. Madame has so well done that I am still jealous.

— And of whom, good God?

— What! have you not remarked?

— No.

— Have you not seen that M. de Guiche is always at her house, always with her?

The queen struck her two hands one against the other and began to laugh.

— Philippe, said she, that is not a fault you have there; it is a disease.

— Fault or disease, madame, I suffer from it.

— And you pretend one cure a ill that exists only in your imagination? You would have us approve you, jealous, when there is no foundation to your jealousy?

— Come, there you will begin again for this one what you said for that one.

— It is that, my son, said the queen dryly, what you did for that one, you begin again for this one.

The prince bowed, somewhat piqued.

— And if I cite facts, said he, will you believe?

— My son, for any other thing than jealousy, I would believe you without allegation of facts; but, for jealousy, I promise you nothing.

— Then, it is as if Your Majesty ordered me to be silent and dismissed me from the case.

— Not at all; you are my son, I owe you all a mother's indulgence.

— Oh! say your thought: you owe me all the indulgence a madman deserves.

— Do not exaggerate, Philippe, and take care not to represent your wife to me as a depraved spirit…

— But the facts!

— I listen.

— This morning, music was being made at Madame's, at ten o'clock.

— That is innocent.

— M. de Guiche conversed alone with her… Ah! I forget to tell you that, for a week, he leaves her no more than her shadow.

— My friend, if they did ill, they would hide.

— Good! cried the duke; I expected that. Mark well what you have just said. This morning, I say, I surprised them, and testified vividly my discontent.

— Be sure that suffices; it is perhaps even a little sharp. These young women are touchy. To reproach them the ill they have not done is sometimes to tell them they might do it.

— Good, good, wait. Mark also what you have just said, Madame: "The lesson of this morning should have sufficed, and, if they did ill, they would hide."

— I said it.

— Now, later, repenting of that morning's vivacity and knowing Guiche sulked at home, I went to Madame's. Guess what I found there? Other music, dances, and Guiche; they hid him there.

Anne of Austria frowned.

— It is imprudent, said she. What said Madame?

— Nothing.

— And Guiche?

— Likewise… Indeed… he stammered some impertinences.

— What conclude you, Philippe?

— That I was played with, that Buckingham was but a pretext, and that the true guilty one is Guiche.

Anne shrugged her shoulders.

— After?

— I wish Guiche out of my house as Buckingham, and I shall ask it of the king, unless…

— Unless?

— You yourself do the errand, madame, you who are so witty and so good.

— I shall not do it.

— What, my mother!

— Listen, Philippe, I am not every day disposed to make people ill compliments; I have authority over this youth, but I could not avail myself of it without losing it; besides, nothing proves M. de Guiche guilty.

— He displeased me.

— That concerns you.

— Good, I know what I shall do, said the prince impetuously.

Anne looked at him uneasily.

— And what will you do? said she.

— I shall have him drowned in my basin the first time I find him in my house.

And, this ferocity launched, the prince awaited an effect of fright. The queen was impassive.

— Do it, said she.

Philippe was weak as a woman, he began to howl.

— I am betrayed, no one loves me: there is my mother going over to my enemies!

“Stories of the world, in your language.”