Then Philippe turned his eyes to the other end of the table, where, by a strange chance, these gentlemen were sitting side by side, and both seemingly equally forgetful of, and insensible to, the queen; and he thought that it was impossible that these men could have loved and be so calm, or that they could have been loved and seem so forgetful. From them he turned to look at Marie Antoinette herself and interrogated that pure forehead, that haughty mouth, and beautiful face; and the answer they all seemed to give him was: calumnies, all calumnies, these rumors, originating only in the hates and jealousies of a court.

While he was coming to these conclusions the clock struck a quarter to eight, and at that moment a great noise of footsteps and the sound of many voices were heard on the staircase. The king, hearing it, signed to the queen, and they both rose and broke up the game. She then passed into the great reception-hall, and the king followed her.

An aide-de-camp of M. de Castries, Minister of Marine, approached the king and said something in a low tone, when M. de Castries himself entered, and said aloud, "Will your majesty receive M. de Suffren, who has arrived from Toulon?"

At this name a general movement took place in the assembly.

"Yes, sir," said the king, "with great pleasure;" and M. de Castries left the room.

To explain this interest for M. de Suffren, and why king, queen, princes, and ministers contended who should be the first to receive him, a few words will suffice.

Suffren is a name essentially French, like Turenne or Jean Bart. Since the last war with England, M. de Suffren had fought seven great naval battles without sustaining a defeat. He had taken Trincomalee and Gondeleur, scoured the seas, and taught the Nabob Hyder Ali that France was the first Power in Europe. He had carried into his profession all the skill of an able diplomatist, all the bravery and all the tactics of a soldier, and all the prudence of a wise ruler. Hardy, indefatigable, and proud when the honor of the French nation was in question, he had harassed the English, by land and by sea, till even these fierce islanders were afraid of him.

But after the battle, in which he risked his life like the meanest sailor, he ever showed himself humane, generous, and compassionate. He was now about fifty-six years of age, stout and short, but with an eye of fire and a noble carriage, and, like a man accustomed to surmount all difficulties, he had dressed in his traveling-carriage.

He wore a blue coat embroidered with gold, a red waistcoat, and blue trousers.

All the guards through whom he had passed, when he was named to them by M. de Castries, had saluted him as they would have done a king.

"M. de Suffren," said the king when he entered, "welcome to Versailles; you bring glory with you."

M. de Suffren bent his knee to the king, who, however, raised him and embraced him cordially; then, turning to the queen, "Madame," said he, "here is M. de Suffren, the victor of Trincomalee and Gondeleur, and the terror of the English."

"Monsieur," said the queen, "I wish you to know that you have not fired a shot for the glory of France but my heart has beaten with admiration and gratitude."

When she ceased, the Comte d'Artois approached with his son, the Duc d'Angouleme.

"My son," said he, "you see a hero; look at him well, for it is a rare sight."

"Monseigneur," replied the young prince, "I have read about the great men in Plutarch, but I could not see them; I thank you for showing me M. de Suffren."

The king now took the arm of M. de Suffren, in order to lead him to his study, and talk to him of his travels; but he made a respectful resistance.

"Sire," said he, "will your majesty permit me——"

"Oh! whatever you wish, sir."

"Then, sire, one of my officers has committed so grave a fault against discipline, that I thought your majesty ought to be sole judge of the offense."

"Oh, M. de Suffren, I had hoped your first request would have been a favor, and not a punishment."

"Your majesty, as I have had the honor to say, shall judge what ought to be done. In the last battle the officer of whom I speak was on board La Severe."

"Oh, the ship that struck her flag!" cried the king, frowning.

"Yes, sire. The captain of La Severe had indeed struck his flag, and already Sir Hugh, the English admiral, had despatched a boat to take possession of his prize, when the lieutenant in command of the guns of the middle deck, perceiving that the firing above had ceased, and having received orders to stop his own fire, went on deck, saw the flag lowered, and the captain ready to surrender. At this sight, sir, all his French blood revolted, he took the flag which lay there, and, seizing a hammer, ordered the men to recommence the fire, while he nailed it to the mast. It was by this action, sire, that La Severe was preserved to your majesty."

"A splendid action!" cried the king and queen simultaneously.

"Yes, sire—yes, madame, but a grave fault against discipline. The order had been given by the captain, and the lieutenant ought to have obeyed. I, however, ask for the pardon of the officer, and the more so as he is my own nephew."

"Your nephew!" cried the king; "and you have never mentioned him!"

"Not to you, sire; but I made my report to the ministers, begging them to say nothing about it until I had obtained his pardon from your majesty."

"It is granted," said the king. "I promise beforehand my protection to all who may violate discipline in such a cause. You must present this officer to me, M. de Suffren."

M. de Suffren turned. "Approach, M. de Charny," he said.

The queen started at the sound of this name, which she had so recently heard. A young officer advanced from the crowd, and presented himself before the king.

The queen and Andree looked anxiously at each other; but M. de Charny bowed before the king almost without raising his eyes, and, after kissing his hand, retired again, without seeming to have observed the queen.

"Come now, M. de Suffren," said the king, "and let us converse; I am impatient to hear all your adventures." But before leaving the room he turned to the queen and said. "Apropos, madame, I am going to have built, as you know, a ship of one hundred guns, and I think of changing the name we had destined for it, and of calling it instead——"

"Oh yes!" cried Marie Antoinette, catching his thought, "we will call it Le Suffren, and I will still stand sponsor."

"Vive le roi! vive la reine!" cried all.

"And vive M. de Suffren!" added the king, and then left the room with him.



CHAPTER XII.

M. DE CHARNY.

M. de Suffren had requested his nephew to wait his return, and he therefore remained in the group as before.

The queen, speaking low to Andree, and glancing towards him, said: "It is he, there is no doubt."

"Mon Dieu! yes, madame, it is he indeed."

At this moment the door opened, and a gentleman dressed in the robes of a cardinal, and followed by a long train of officers and prelates, entered the room.

The queen immediately recognized M. de Rohan, and turned away her head, without taking the trouble to hide the frown which overspread her face.

He crossed the room without stopping to speak to any one, and, coming straight up to her, bowed to her more as a man of the world bows to a lady than as a subject to a queen, and then addressed some rather high-flown compliments to her; but she scarcely looked at him, and, after murmuring a few cold words in reply, began to talk to Madame de Lamballe.

The cardinal did not seem to notice this chilling reception, but bowed again, and retired without appearing in the least disconcerted.

He then turned to the king's aunts, from whom he met with a reception as cordial as the queen's had been the reverse. The Cardinal Louis de Rohan was a man in the prime of life, and of an imposing figure and noble bearing; his eyes shone with intelligence, his mouth was well cut and handsome, and his hands were beautiful. A premature baldness indicated either a man of pleasure or a studious one—and he was both. He was a man no little sought after by the ladies, and was noted for his magnificent style of living; indeed, he had found the way to feel himself poor with an income of 1,600,000 francs.

The king liked him for his learning, but the queen hated him. The reasons for this hate were twofold: first, when ambassador to Vienna, he had written to Louis XV. letters so full of sarcasm on Maria Theresa, that her daughter had never forgiven him; and he had also written letters opposing her marriage, which had been read aloud by Louis XV. at a supper at Madame Dubarry's. The embassy at Vienna had been taken from M. de Breteuil and given to M. de Rohan; the former gentleman, not strong enough to revenge himself alone, had procured copies of these letters, which he had laid before the dauphiness, thus making her the eternal enemy of M. de Rohan.

This hatred rendered the cardinal's position at court not a little uncomfortable. Every time he presented himself before the queen, he met with the same discouraging reception. In spite of this, he neglected no occasion of being near her, for which he had frequent opportunities, as he was chaplain to the court; and he never complained of the treatment he received. A circle of friends, among whom the Baron de Planta was the most intimate, helped to console him for these royal rebuffs; not to speak of the ladies of the court, who by no means imitated the severity of the queen towards him.

When he was gone, Marie Antoinette recovered her serenity, and said to Madame de Lamballe:

"Do you not think that this action of the nephew of M. de Suffren is one of the most remarkable of the war? What is his name, by the bye?"

"M. de Charny, I believe," replied the princess. "Was it not?" she said, turning to Andree.

"Yes, your highness."

"M. de Charny shall describe it to us himself," said the queen. "Is he still here? Let him be sought for."

An officer who stood near hastened to obey her, and immediately returned with M. de Charny, and the circle round the queen made way for him to approach.

He was a young man, about eight-and-twenty, tall and well made; his face, animated and yet sweet, took a character of singular energy when he spoke, and dilated his large blue eyes; and he was, strange to say, for one who had been fighting in India, as fair as Philippe was dark.

When he had approached the place where the queen sat, with Madlle. de Taverney standing near her, he did not betray his surprise in any way, although it must have been great, in recognizing the ladies of the evening before. He did not look up until she addressed him, saying:

"M. de Charny, these ladies experience the natural desire, which I share with them, to hear from yourself all the details of this action of your ship."

"Madame," replied the young officer, "I beg your majesty to spare me the recital, not from modesty, but from humanity. What I did as lieutenant, a dozen other officers doubtless wished to do, only I was the first to put it in execution; and it is not worthy being made the subject of a narration to your majesty. Besides, the captain of La Severe is a brave officer, who on that day lost his presence of mind. Alas, madame, we all know that the most courageous are not always equally brave. He wanted but ten minutes to recover himself; my determination not to surrender gave him the breathing time, his natural courage returned to him, and he showed himself the bravest of us all. Therefore I beg your majesty not to exaggerate the merit of my action, and thereby crush this deserving officer, who deplores incessantly the failing of a few moments."

"Right!" said the queen, touched by these generous words; "you are a true gentleman, M. de Charny, and such I already know you to be."

The young man colored crimson, and looked almost frightened at Andree, fearing what the queen's rash generosity might lead her to say.

"For," continued the intrepid queen, "I must tell you all, that this is not the first time I have heard of M. de Charny, who deserves to be known and admired by all ladies; and to show you that he is as indulgent to our sex as he is merciless to his enemies, I will relate a little history of him which does him the greatest honor."

"Oh, madame!" stammered the young man, who felt as if he would have given a year of his life to be back in the West Indies.

"This, then, is it," continued the queen, to her eager listeners: "two ladies, whom I know, were detained out late and became embarrassed in a crowd; they ran a great risk, a real danger awaited them; M. de Charny happily passed by at the moment: he dispersed the crowd, and, although they were unknown to him, and it was impossible to recognize their rank, took them under his protection, and escorted them a long way, ten miles from Paris, I believe."

"Oh! your majesty exaggerates," said M. de Charny, laughing, and now quite reassured.

"Well, we will call it five," said the Count d'Artois, suddenly joining in the conversation.

"Let it be five, then, brother," said the queen; "but the most admirable part of the story is, that M. de Charny did not seek even to know the names of these ladies whom he had served, but left them at the place where they wished to stop, and went away without even looking back, so that they escaped from his protection without even a moment's disquietude."

All expressed their admiration.

"A knight of the round table could not have acted better," her majesty went on; "and so, M. de Charny, as the king will doubtless take upon himself to reward M. de Suffren, I, for my part, wish to do something for the nephew of this great man."

As she spoke, she held out her hand to him, and Charny, pale with joy, pressed his lips to this beautiful hand, while Philippe looked on from an obscure corner, pale with an opposite emotion.

The voice of M. d'Artois interrupted this scene, saying loudly, "Ah, Provence! you come too late! you have missed a fine sight, the reception of M. de Suffren. Really, it was one that a Frenchman can never forget. How the devil did it happen that you were not here—you who are generally the punctual man par excellence?"

M. de Provence bit his lips with vexation, and whispered to M. de Favras, his captain of the guards, "How does it come to pass that he is here?"

"Ah! monseigneur, I have been asking myself that question for the last hour, and have not yet found an answer."



CHAPTER XIII.

THE ONE HUNDRED LOUIS OF THE QUEEN.

Now we have introduced the principal characters of this history to our readers, and have taken them both into the "petite maison" of the Comte d'Artois and into the king's palace at Versailles, we will return to that house in the Rue St. Claude where we saw the queen enter incognito with Mademoiselle Andree de Taverney.

We left Madame de la Motte counting over and delighted with her fifty double louis; next to the pleasure of having them, she knew no greater than that of displaying them, and having no one else, she called Dame Clotilde, who was still in the ante-chamber.

When she entered, "Come and look here!" said her mistress.

"Oh, madame!" cried the old woman, clasping her hands in astonishment.

"You were uneasy about your wages," said the countess.

"Oh, madame! I never said that; I only asked madame if she could pay me, as I had received nothing for three months."

"Do you think there is enough there to pay you?"

"Oh! madame, if I had all that, I should be rich for the rest of my life. But in what will madame spend all that?"

"In everything."

"The first thing, I think, madame, will be to furnish the kitchen, for you will have good dinners cooked now."

"Listen!" said Madame de la Motte; "someone knocks."

"I did not hear it," said the old woman.

"But I tell you that I did; so go at once." She hastily gathered up her money, and put it into a drawer, murmuring, "Oh! if Providence will but send me another such a visitor." Then she heard the steps of a man below, but could not distinguish what he said. Soon however, the door opened, and Clotilde came in with a letter.

The countess examined it attentively, and asked, "Was this brought by a servant?"

"Yes, madame."

"In livery?"

"No, madame."

"I know these arms, surely," said Jeanne to herself. "Who can it be from? but the letter will soon show for itself;" and opening it, she read: "Madame, the person to whom you wrote will see you to-morrow evening, if it be agreeable to you to remain at home for that purpose;" and that was all. "I have written to so many people," thought the countess. "Is this a man or a woman? The writing is no guide, nor is the style; it might come from either. Who is it that uses these arms? Oh! I remember now—the arms of the Rohans. Yes, I wrote to M. de Guemenee, and to M. de Rohan; it is one of them: but the shield is not quartered—it is therefore the cardinal. Ah! Monsieur de Rohan, the man of gallantry, the fine gentleman, and the ambitious one; he will come to see Jeanne de la Motte, if it be agreeable to her. Oh, yes! M. de Rohan, it is very agreeable. A charitable lady who gives a hundred louis may be received in a garret, freeze in my cold room, and suffer on my hard chair; but a clerical prince, a lady's man, that is quite another thing. We must have luxury to greet him."

Then, turning to Clotilde, who was getting her bed ready, she said: "Be sure to call me early to-morrow morning;" and when she did retire to rest, so absorbed was she in her expectations and plans, that it was nearly three o'clock before she fell asleep; nevertheless, she was quite ready when Dame Clotilde called her according to her directions early in the morning, and had finished her toilet by eight o'clock, although this day it consisted of an elegant silk dress, and her hair was elaborately dressed.

She sent Clotilde for a coach, and ordered the man to drive to the Place Royale, where, under one of the arcades, was the shop of M. Fingret, an upholsterer and decorator, and who had furniture always ready for sale or hire.

She entered his immense show-rooms, of which the walls were hung with different tapestries, and the ceiling completely hidden by the number of chandeliers and lamps that hung from it. On the ground were furniture, carpets, and cornices of every fashion and description.



CHAPTER XIV.

M. FINGRET.

Madame de la Motte, looking at all this, began to perceive how much she wanted. She wanted a drawing-room to hold sofas and lounging-chairs; a dining-room for tables and sideboards; and a boudoir for Persian curtains, screens, and knick-knacks; above all, she wanted the money to buy all these things. But in Paris, whatever you cannot afford to buy, you can hire; and Madame de la Motte set her heart on a set of furniture covered in yellow silk, with gilt nails, which she thought would be very becoming to her dark complexion. But this furniture she felt sure would never go into her rooms on the fifth story; it would be necessary to hire the third, which was composed of an ante-chamber, a dining-room, small drawing-room, and bedroom, so that she might, she thought, receive on this third story the visits of the cardinal, and on the fifth those of ladies of charity—that is to say, receive in luxury those who give from ostentation, and in poverty those who only desire to give when it is needed.

The countess, having made all these reflections, turned to where M. Fingret himself stood, with his hat in his hand, waiting for her commands.

"Madame?" said he in a tone of interrogation, advancing towards her.

"Madame la Comtesse de la Motte Valois," said Jeanne.

At this high-sounding name M. Fingret bowed low, and said: "But there is nothing in this room worthy Madame la Comtesse's inspection. If madame will take the trouble to step into the next one, she will see what is new and beautiful."

Jeanne colored. All this had seemed so splendid to her, too splendid even to hope to possess it; and this high opinion of M. Fingret's concerning her perplexed her not a little. She regretted that she had not announced herself as a simple bourgeoise; but it was necessary to speak, so she said, "I do not wish for new furniture."

"Madame has doubtless some friend's apartments to furnish?"

"Just so," she replied.

"Will madame, then, choose?" said M. Fingret, who did not care whether he sold new or old, as he gained equally by both.

"This set," said Jeanne, pointing to the yellow silk one.

"That is such a small set, madame."

"Oh, the rooms are small."

"It is nearly new, as madame may see."

"But the price?"

"Eight hundred francs."

The price made the countess tremble; and how was she to confess that a countess was content with second-hand things, and then could not afford to pay eight hundred francs for them? She therefore thought the best thing was to appear angry, and said: "Who thinks of buying, sir? Who do you think would buy such old things? I only want to hire."

Fingret made a grimace; his customer began gradually to lose her value in his eyes. She did not want to buy new things, only to hire old ones, "You wish it for a year?" he asked.

"No, only for a month. It is for some one coming from the country."

"It will be one hundred francs a month."

"You jest, surely, monsieur; why, in eight months I should have paid the full price of it."

"Granted, Madame la Comtesse."

"Well, is not that too bad?"

"I shall have the expense of doing it up again when you return it."

Madame de la Motte reflected. "One hundred francs a month is very dear, certainly; but either I can return it at the end of that time and say it is too dear, or I shall then perhaps be in a situation to buy."

"I will take it," she said, "with curtains to match."

"Yes, madame."

"And carpets."

"Here they are."

"What can you give me for another room?"

"These oak chairs, this table with twisted legs, and green damask curtains."

"And for a bedroom?"

"A large and handsome bed, a counterpane of velvet embroidered in rose-color and silver, an excellent couch, and blue curtains."

"And for my dressing-room?"

"A toilet-table hung with Mechlin lace; chest of drawers with marqueterie; sofa and chairs of tapestry. The whole came from the bedroom of Madame de Pompadour at Choisy."

"All this for what price?"

"For a month?"

"Yes."

"Four hundred francs."

"Come, Monsieur Fingret, do not take me for a grisette who is dazzled by your fine descriptions. Please to reflect that you are asking at the rate of four thousand eight hundred francs a year, and for that I can take a whole furnished house. You disgust me with the Place Royale."

"I am very sorry, madame."

"Prove it, then; I will only give half that price." Jeanne pronounced these words with so much authority that the merchant began again to think she might be worth conciliating.

"So be it, then, madame."

"And on one condition, M. Fingret."

"What, madame?"

"That everything be arranged in its proper place by three o'clock."

"But consider, madame, it is now ten."

"Can you do it or not?"

"Where must they go to?"

"Rue St. Claude."

"Close by?"

"Precisely."

The upholsterer opened a door, and called, "Sylvain! Landry! Remy!"

Three men answered to the call.

"The carts and the trucks instantly. Remy, you shall take this yellow furniture; Sylvain, you take that for the dining-room; and you, Landry, that for the bedroom. Here is the bill, madame; shall I receipt it?"

"Here are six double louis," she said, "and you can give the change to these men if the order is completed in time;" and, having given her address, she reentered her coach.

On her return she engaged the third floor, and in a few hours all was in order.

The lodgings thus transformed, the windows cleaned, and the fires lighted, Jeanne went again to her toilet, which she made as recherche as possible, and then took a last look at all the delights around her. Nothing had been forgotten: there were gilded branches from the walls for wax-lights, and glass lusters on each side of the mirror; Jeanne had also added flowers, to complete the embellishment of the paradise in which she intended to receive his eminence. She took care even to leave the door of the bedroom a little open, through which the light of a bright fire gave a glimpse of the luxuries within.

All these preparations completed, she seated herself in a chair by the fire, with a book in her hand, listening eagerly to the sound of every carriage that passed; but nine, ten, and eleven o'clock struck, and no one came. Still she did not despair; it was not too late for a gallant prelate, who had probably been first to some supper, and would come to her from there. But at last twelve struck; no one appeared, the lights were burning low, and the old servant, after many lamentations over her new cap, had fallen asleep in her chair.

At half-past twelve Jeanne rose furious from her chair, looked out of window for the hundredth time, and, seeing no one near, undressed herself and went to bed, refusing supper, or to answer any of the remarks made to her by Clotilde; and on her sumptuous bed, under her beautiful curtains, she experienced no better rest than she had on the previous night. At last, however, her anger began a little to abate, and she commenced framing excuses for the cardinal. He had so much to occupy him, he must have been detained, and, most potent of all, he had not yet seen her. She would not have been so easily consoled if he had broken the promise of a second visit.



CHAPTER XV.

THE CARDINAL DE ROHAN.

The next evening Jeanne, not discouraged, renewed all her preparations of the night before; and on this occasion she had no time to grow impatient, for at seven o'clock a carriage drove up to the door, from which a gentleman got out. At the sound of the door-bell Jeanne's heart beat so loud that you might almost have heard it; however, she composed herself as well as she could, and in a few minutes Clotilde opened the door, and announced the person who had written the day before yesterday.

"Let him come in," said Jeanne; and a gentleman dressed in silk and velvet, and with a lofty carriage, entered the room.

Jeanne made a step forward, and said: "To whom have I the honor of speaking?"

"I am the Cardinal de Rohan," he replied; at which Madame de la Motte, feigning to be overwhelmed with the honor, courtesied, as though he were a king. Then she advanced an armchair for him, and placed herself in another.

The cardinal laid his hat on the table, and, looking at Jeanne, began: "It is, then, true, mademoiselle——"

"Madame," interrupted Jeanne.

"Pardon me; I forgot."

"My husband is called De la Motte, monseigneur."

"Oh, yes; a gendarme, is he not?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you, madame, are a Valois?"

"I am, monseigneur."

"A great name," said the cardinal, "but rare—believed extinct."

"Not extinct, sir, since I bear it, and as I have a brother, Baron de Valois."

"Recognized?"

"That has nothing to do with it. Recognized or unrecognized, rich or poor, he is still Baron de Valois."

"Madame, explain to me this descent; it interests me; I love heraldry."

Jeanne repeated all that the reader already knows.

The cardinal listened and looked. He did not believe either her story or her merit; but she was poor and pretty.

"So that," he said carelessly, when she had finished, "you have really been unfortunate."

"I do not complain, monseigneur."

"Indeed, I had heard a most exaggerated account of the difficulties of your position; this lodging is commodious and well furnished."

"For a grisette, no doubt," replied Jeanne.

"What! do you call these rooms fit for a grisette?"

"I do not think you can call them fit for a princess," replied Jeanne.

"And you are a princess?" said he, in an ironical tone.

"I was born a Valois, monseigneur, as you were a Rohan," said Jeanne, with so much dignity that he felt a little touched by it.

"Madame," said he, "I forgot that my first words should have been an apology. I wrote to you that I would come yesterday, but I had to go to Versailles to assist at the reception of M. de Suffren."

"Monseigneur does me too much honor in remembering me to-day; and my husband will more than ever regret the exile to which poverty compels him, since it prevents him from sharing this favor with me."

"You live alone, madame?" asked the cardinal.

"Absolutely alone. I should be out of place in all society but that from which my poverty debars me."

"The genealogists do not contest your claim?"

"No; but what good does it do me?"

"Madame," continued the cardinal, "I shall be glad to know in what I can serve you."

"In nothing, monseigneur," she said.

"How! in nothing? Pray be frank."

"I cannot be more frank than I am."

"You were complaining just now."

"Certainly, I complain."

"Well, then?"

"Well, then, monseigneur, I see that you wish to bestow charity on me."

"Oh, madame!"

"Yes, sir, I have taken charity, but I will do so no more. I have borne great humiliation."

"Madame, you are wrong, there is no humiliation in misfortune."

"Not even with the name I bear? Would you beg, M. de Rohan?"

"I do not speak of myself," said he, with an embarrassment mingled with hauteur.

"Monseigneur, I only know two ways of begging: in a carriage, or at a church door in velvet or in rags. Well, just now, I did not expect the honor of this visit; I thought you had forgotten me."

"Oh, you knew, then, that it was I who wrote?"

"Were not your arms on the seal?"

"However, you feigned not to know me."

"Because you did not do me the honor to announce yourself."

"This pride pleases me," said the cardinal.

"I had then," continued Jeanne, "despairing of seeing you, taken the resolution of throwing off all this flimsy parade, which covers my real poverty, and of going in rags, like other mendicants, to beg my bread from the passers-by."

"You are not at the end of your resources, I trust, madame?"

Jeanne did not reply.

"You have some property, even if it be mortgaged? Some family jewels? This, for example," and he pointed to a box, with which the delicate fingers of the lady had been playing. "A singular box, upon my word! Will you permit me to look? Oh, a portrait!" he continued, with a look of great surprise. "Do you know the original of this portrait?" asked Jeanne.

"It is that of Maria Theresa."

"Of Maria Theresa?"

"Yes, the Empress of Austria."

"Really!" cried Jeanne. "Are you sure, monseigneur?"

"Where did you get it?" he asked.

"From a lady who came the day before yesterday."

"To see you?"

"Yes."

The cardinal examined the box with minute attention.

"There were two ladies," continued Jeanne.

"And one of them gave you this box?" said he, with evident suspicion.

"No; she dropped it here."

The cardinal remained thoughtful for some time, and then said, "What was the name of this lady? I beg pardon for being inquisitive."

"Indeed, it is a somewhat strange question."

"Indiscreet, perhaps, but not strange."

"Yes, very strange; for if I had known her name, I should have returned it long before this."

"Then, you know not who she is?"

"I only know she is the head of some charitable house."

"In Paris?"

"No; in Versailles."

"From Versailles; the head of a charitable house!"

"Monseigneur, I accept charity from ladies; that does not so much humiliate a poor woman; and this lady, who had heard of my wants, left a hundred louis on my table when she went away."

"A hundred louis!" said the cardinal in surprise; then, fearing to offend, he added, "I am not astonished, madame, that they should give you such a sum. You merit, on the contrary, all the solicitude of charitable people, and your name makes it a duty to help you. It is only the title of the Sister of Charity that surprised me, they are not in the habit of giving such donations. Could you describe this lady to me?"

"Not easily, sir."

"How so, since she came here?"

"Yes, but she probably did not wish to be recognized, for she hid her face as much as possible in her hood, and was besides, enveloped in furs."

"Well, but you saw something?"

"My impressions were, that she had blue eyes, and a small mouth, though the lips were rather thick."

"Tall or short?"

"Of middle height."

"Her hands?"

"Perfect."

"Her throat?"

"Long and slender."

"Her expression?"

"Severe and noble. But you, perhaps, know this lady, monseigneur?"

"Why should you think so, madame?"

"From the manner in which you question me; besides, there is a sympathy between the doers of good works."

"No, madame, I do not know her."

"But, sir, if you had some suspicion."

"How should I?"

"Oh, from this portrait, perhaps."

"Yes, certainly, the portrait," said the cardinal, rather uneasily.

"Well, sir, this portrait you still believe to be that of Maria Theresa?"

"I believe so, certainly."

"Then you think——?"

"That you have received a visit from some German lady who has founded one of these houses!" But it was evident that the cardinal doubted, and he was pondering how this box, which he had seen a hundred times in the hands of the queen, came into the possession of this woman. Had the queen really been to see her? If she had been, was she indeed unknown to Jeanne? Or, if not, why did she try to hide the knowledge from him. If the queen had really been there, it was no longer a poor woman he had to deal with, but a princess succored by a queen, who bestowed her gifts in person.

Jeanne saw that the cardinal was thoughtful, and even suspicious of her. She felt uneasy, and knew not what to say.

At last, however, he broke the silence by saying, "And the other lady?"

"Oh, I could see her perfectly; she is tall and beautiful, with a determined expression, and a brilliant complexion."

"And the other lady did not name her?"

"Yes, once; but by her Christian name."

"What was it?"

"Andree."

"Andree!" repeated the cardinal, with a start.

This name put an end to all his doubts. It was known that the queen had gone to Paris on that day with Mademoiselle de Taverney. It was evident, also, that Jeanne had no intention of deceiving him; she was telling all she knew. Still, he would try one more proof.

"Countess," he said, "one thing astonishes me, that you have not addressed yourself to the king."

"But, sir, I have sent him twenty petitions."

"Without result?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, the princes of the blood; M. le Duc d'Orleans is charitable, and often likes to do what the king refuses."

"I have tried him, equally fruitlessly."

"That astonishes me."

"Oh, when one is poor, and not supported by any one——"

"There is still the Comte d'Artois; sometimes dissipated men do more generous actions than charitable ones."

"It is the same story with him."

"But the princesses, the aunts of the king, Madame Elizabeth particularly, would refuse assistance to no one."

"It is true, monseigneur, her royal highness, to whom I wrote, promised to receive me; but, I know not why, after having received my husband, I could never get any more notice from her."

"It is strange, certainly," said the cardinal; then, as if the thought had just struck him, he cried, "Ah! mon Dieu! but we are forgetting the person to whom you should have addressed yourself first of all."

"Whom do you mean?"

"To the dispenser of all favors, she who never refuses help where it is deserved—to the queen. Have you seen her?"

"No," answered Jeanne.

"You have never presented your petition to the queen?"

"Never."

"You have not tried to obtain an audience of her?"

"I have tried, but failed."

"Have you tried to throw yourself in her way, that she might remark you?"

"No, monseigneur."

"But that is very strange."

"I have only been twice to Versailles, and then saw but two persons there; one was Doctor Louis, who had attended my poor father at the Hotel Dieu, and the other was M. le Baron de Taverney, to whom I had an introduction."

"What did M. de Taverney say to you? He might have brought you to the queen."

"He told me that I was very foolish to bring forward as a claim to the benevolence of the king a relationship which would be sure to displease him, as nobody likes poor relations."

"I recognize the egotistical and rude old baron. Well," continued he, "I will conduct you myself to Versailles, and will open the doors for you."

"Oh, monseigneur, how good you are," cried Jeanne, overwhelmed with joy.

The cardinal approached her, and said, "It is impossible but that before long all must interest themselves in you."

"Alas! monseigneur," said Jeanne, with a sigh, "do you think so?"

"I am sure of it."

"I fear you flatter me," she said, looking earnestly at him, for she could hardly believe in his sudden change of manner, he had been so cold and suspicious at first.

This look had no small effect on the cardinal; he began to think he had never met a woman prettier or more attractive. "Ah, ma foi!" said he to himself, with the eternally scheming spirit of a man used to diplomacy, "it would be too extraordinary and too fortunate if I have met at once an honest woman with the attractions of a scheming one, and found in this poverty an able coadjutrix to my desires."

"Monseigneur, the silence you keep every now and then disquiets me."

"Why so, countess?"

"Because a man like you only fails in politeness to two kinds of women."

"Mon Dieu! countess, you frighten me. What are you about to say?" and he took her hand.

"I repeat it," said she, "with women that you love too much, or with women whom you do not esteem enough to be polite to."

"Countess, you make me blush. Have I, then, failed in politeness towards you?"

"Rather so, monseigneur; and yet you cannot love me too much, and I have given you no cause to despise me."

"Oh, countess, you speak as if you were angry with me."

"No, monseigneur; you have not yet merited my anger."

"And I never will, madame. From this day, in which I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, my solicitude for you will not cease."

"Oh, sir, do not speak to me of your protection."

"Oh, mon Dieu! I should humiliate myself, not you, in mentioning such a thing;" and he pressed her hand, which he continued to hold, to his lips.

She tried to withdraw it; but he said, "Only politeness, madame," and she let it remain.

"To know," said she, "that I shall occupy a place, however small, in the mind of a man so eminent and so busy, would console me for a year."

"Let us hope the consolation will last longer than that, countess."

"Well, perhaps so, monseigneur; I have confidence in you, because I feel that you are capable of appreciating a mind like mine, adventurous, brave, and pure, in spite of my poverty, and of the enemies which my position has made me. Your eminence will, I am sure, discover all the good that is in me, and be indulgent to all the rest."

"We, are, then, warm friends, madame;" and he advanced towards her, but his arms were a little more extended than the occasion required. She avoided him, and said, laughing:

"It must be a friendship among three, cardinal."

"Among three?"

"Doubtless, for there exists an exile, a poor gendarme, who is called M. de la Motte."

"Oh, countess, what a deplorably good memory you have!"

"I must speak to you of him, that you may not forget him."

"Do you know why I do not speak of him, countess?"

"No; pray tell me."

"Because he will speak enough for himself: husbands never let themselves be forgotten. We shall hear that M. le Comte de la Motte found it good, or found it bad, that the Cardinal de Rohan came two, three, or four times a week to visit his wife."

"Ah! but will you come so often, monseigneur?"

"Without that, where would be our friendship? Four times! I should have said six or seven."

Jeanne laughed, "I should not indeed wonder in that case if people did talk of it."

"Oh! but we can easily prevent them."

"How?"

"Quite easily. The people know me——"

"Certainly, monseigneur."

"But you they have the misfortune not to know."

"Well?"

"Therefore, if you would——"

"What, sir?"

"Come out instead of me."

"Come to your hotel, monseigneur?"

"You would go to see a minister."

"Oh! a minister is not a man."

"You are adorable, countess. But I did not speak of my hotel; I have a house——"

"Oh! a petite maison?"

"No; a house of yours."

"A house of mine, cardinal! Indeed, I did not know it."

"To-morrow, at ten o'clock, you shall have the address."

The countess blushed; the cardinal took her hand again, and imprinted another kiss upon it, at once bold, respectful, and tender. They then bowed to each other.

"Light monseigneur down," said the countess; and he went away.

"Well," thought she, "I have made a great step in the world."

"Come," said the cardinal to himself as he drove off, "I think I have killed two birds with one stone; this woman has too much talent not to catch the queen as she has caught me?"



CHAPTER XVI.

MESMER AND ST. MARTIN.

The fashionable study in Paris at this time, and that which engrossed most of those who had no business to attend to, was Mesmerism—a mysterious science, badly defined by its discoverers, who did not wish to render it too plain to the eyes of the people. Dr. Mesmer, who had given to it his own name, was then in Paris, as we have already heard from Marie Antoinette.

This Doctor Mesmer deserves a few words from us, as his name was then in all mouths.

He had brought this science from Germany, the land of mysteries, in 1777. He had previously made his debut there, by a theory on the influence of the planets. He had endeavored to establish that these celestial bodies, through the same power by which they attract each other, exercised an influence over living bodies, and particularly over the nervous system, by means of a subtle fluid with which the air is impregnated. But this first theory was too abstract: one must, to understand it, be initiated into all the sciences of Galileo or Newton; and it would have been necessary, for this to have become popular, that the nobility should have been transformed into a body of savants. He therefore abandoned this system, and took up that of the loadstone, which was then attracting great attention, people fancying that this wonderful power was efficacious in curing illnesses.

Unhappily for him, however, he found a rival in this already established in Vienna; therefore he once more announced that he abandoned mineral magnetism, and intended to effect his cures through animal magnetism.

This, although a new name, was not in reality a new science; it was as old as the Greeks and Egyptians, and had been preserved in traditions, and revived every now and then by the sorcerers of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, many of whom had paid for their knowledge with their lives. Urbain Grandier was nothing but an animal magnetizer; and Joseph Balsamo we have seen practising it. Mesmer only condensed this knowledge into a science, and gave it a name. He then communicated his system to the scientific academies of Paris, London, and Berlin. The two first did not answer him, and the third said that he was mad. He came to France, and took out of the hands of Dr. Storck, and of the oculist Wenzel, a young girl seventeen years old, who had a complaint of the liver and gutta serena, and after three months of his treatment, restored her health and her sight.

This cure convinced many people, and among them a doctor called Deslon, who, from his enemy, became his pupil. Prom this time his reputation gradually increased; the academy declared itself against him, but the court for him. At last the government offered him, in the king's name, an income for life of twenty thousand francs to give lectures in public, and ten thousand more to instruct three persons, who should be chosen by them, in his system.

Mesmer, however, indignant at the royal parsimony, refused, and set out for the Spa waters with one of his patients; but while he was gone, Deslon, his pupil, possessor of the secret which he had refused to sell for thirty thousand francs a year, opened a public establishment for the treatment of patients. Mesmer was furious, and exhausted himself in complaints and menaces. One of his patients, however, M. de Bergasse, conceived the idea of forming a company. They raised a capital of 340,000 francs, on the condition that the secret should be revealed to the shareholders. It was a fortunate time: the people, having no great public events to interest them, entered eagerly into every new amusement and occupation; and this mysterious theory possessed no little attraction, professing, as it did, to cure invalids, restore mind to the fools, and amuse the wise.

Everywhere Mesmer was talked of. What had he done? On whom had he performed these miracles? To what great lord had he restored sight? To what lady worn out with dissipation had he renovated the nerves? To what young girl had he shown the future in a magnetic trance? The future! that word of ever-entrancing interest and curiosity.

Voltaire was dead; there was no one left to make France laugh, except perhaps Beaumarchais, who was still more bitter than his master; Rousseau was dead, and with him the sect of religious philosophers. War had generally occupied strongly the minds of the French people, but now the only war in which they were engaged was in America, where the people fought for what they called independence, and what the French called liberty; and even this distant war in another land, and affecting another people, was on the point of termination. Therefore they felt more interest just now in M. Mesmer, who was near, than in Washington or Lord Cornwallis, who were so far off. Mesmer's only rival in the public interest was St. Martin, the professor of spiritualism, as Mesmer was of materialism, and who professed to cure souls, as he did bodies.

Imagine an atheist with a religion more attractive than religion itself; a republican full of politeness and interest for kings; a gentleman of the privileged classes tender and solicitous for the people, endowed with the most startling eloquence, attacking all the received religions of the earth.

Imagine Epicurus in white powder, embroidered coat, and silk stockings, not content with endeavoring to overturn a religion in which he did not believe, but also attacking all existing governments, and promulgating the theory that all men are equal, or, to use his own words, that all intelligent beings are kings.

Imagine the effect of all this in society as it then was, without fixed principles or steady guides, and how it was all assisting to light the fire with which France not long after began to consume herself.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE BUCKET.

We have endeavored to give an idea in the last chapter of the interest and enthusiasm which drew such crowds of the people to see M. Mesmer perform publicly his wonderful experiments.

The king, as we know, had given permission to the queen to go and see what all Paris was talking of, accompanied by one of the princesses. It was two days after the visit of M. de Rohan to the countess. The weather was fine, and the thaw was complete, and hundreds of sweepers were employed in cleaning away the snow from the streets. The clear blue sky was just beginning to be illumined by its first stars, when Madame de la Motte, elegantly dressed, and presenting every appearance of opulence, arrived in a coach, which Clotilde had carefully chosen as the best looking at the Place Vendome, and stopped before a brilliantly-lighted house.

It was that of Doctor Mesmer. Numbers of other carriages were waiting at the door, and a crowd of people had collected to see the patients arrive and depart, who seemed to derive much pleasure when they saw some rich invalid, enveloped in furs and satins, carried in by footmen, from the evident proof it afforded that God made men healthy or unhealthy, without reference to their purses or their genealogies. A universal murmur would arise when they recognized some duke paralyzed in an arm or leg; or some marshal whose feet refused their office, less in consequence of military fatigues and marches than from halts made with the ladies of the Opera, or of the Comedie Italienne. Sometimes it was a lady carried in by her servants with drooping head and languid eye, who, weakened by late hours and an irregular life, came to demand from Doctor Mesmer the health she had vainly sought to regain elsewhere.

Many of these ladies were as well known as the gentlemen, but a great many escaped the public gaze, especially on this evening, by wearing masks; for there was a ball at the Opera that night, and many of them intended to drive straight there when they left the doctor's house.

Through this crowd Madame de la Motte walked erect and firm, also with a mask on, and elicited only the exclamation, "This one does not look ill, at all events."

Ever since the cardinal's visit, the attention with which he had examined the box and portrait had been on Jeanne's mind; and she could not but feel that all his graciousness commenced after seeing it, and she therefore felt proportionate curiosity to learn more about it.

First she had gone to Versailles to inquire at all the houses of charity about German ladies; but there were there, perhaps, a hundred and fifty or two hundred, and all Jeanne's inquiries about the two ladies who had visited her had proved fruitless. In vain she repeated that one of them was called Andree; no one knew a German lady of that name, which indeed was not German. Baffled in this, she determined to try elsewhere, and having heard much of M. Mesmer, and the wonderful secrets revealed through him, determined upon going there. Many were the stories of this kind in circulation. Madame de Duras had recovered a child who had been lost; Madame de Chantoue, an English dog, not much bigger than her fist, for which she would have given all the children in the world; and M. de Vaudreuil a lock of hair, which he would have bought back with half his fortune. All these revelations had been made by clairvoyants after the magnetic operations of Doctor Mesmer.

Those who came to see him, after traversing the ante-chambers, were admitted into a large room, from which the darkened and hermetically closed windows excluded light and air. In the middle of this room, under a luster which gave but a feeble light, was a vast unornamented tank, filled with water impregnated with sulphur, and to the cover of which was fastened an iron ring; attached to this ring was a long chain, the object of which we shall presently see.

All the patients were seated round the room, men and women indiscriminately; then a valet, taking the chain, wound it round the limbs of the patients, so that they might all feel, at the same time, the effects of the electricity contained in the tank; they were then directed to touch each other in some way, either by the shoulder, the elbow, or the feet, and each was to take in his hand a bar of iron, which was also connected with the tank, and to place it to the heart, head, or whatever was the seat of the malady. When they were all ready, a soft and pleasing strain of music, executed by invisible performers, was heard. Among the most eager of the crowd, on the evening of which we speak, was a young, distinguished-looking, and beautiful woman, with a graceful figure, and rather showily dressed, who pressed the iron to her heart with wonderful energy, rolling her beautiful eyes, and beginning to show, in the trembling of her hands, the first effects of the electric fluid.

As she constantly threw back her head, resting it on the cushions of her chair, all around could see perfectly her pale but beautiful face, and her white throat. Many seemed to look at her with great astonishment, and a general whispering commenced among those who surrounded her.

Madame de la Motte was one of the most curious of the party; and of all she saw around her, nothing attracted her attention so much as this young lady, and after gazing earnestly at her for some time, she at last murmured, "Oh! it is she, there is no doubt. It is the lady who came to see me the other day." And convinced that she was not mistaken, she advanced towards her, congratulating herself that chance had effected for her what she had so long been vainly trying to accomplish; but at this moment the young lady closed her eyes, contracted her mouth, and began to beat the air feebly with her hands, which hands, however, did not seem to Jeanne the white and beautiful ones she had seen in her room a few days before.

The patients now began to grow excited under the influence of the fluid. Men and women began to utter sighs, and even cries, moving convulsively their heads, arms, and legs. Then a man suddenly made his appearance; no one had seen him enter; you might have fancied he came out of the tank. He was dressed in a lilac robe, and held in his hand a long wand, which he several times dipped into the mysterious tank; then he made a sign, the doors opened, and twenty robust servants entered, and seizing such of the patients as began to totter on their seats, carried them into an adjoining room.

While this was going on Madame de la Motte heard a man who had approached near to the young lady before-mentioned, and who was in a perfect paroxysm of excitement, say in a loud voice, "It is surely she!" Jeanne was about to ask him who she was, when her attention was drawn to two ladies who were just entering, followed by a man, who, though disguised as a bourgeois, had still the appearance of a servant.

The tournure of one of these ladies struck Jeanne so forcibly that she made a step towards them, when a cry from the young woman near her startled every one. The same man whom Jeanne had heard speak before now called out, "But look, gentlemen, it is the queen."

"The queen!" cried many voices, in surprise. "The queen here! The queen in that state! Impossible!"

"But look," said he again; "do you know the queen, or not?"

"Indeed," said many, "the resemblance is incredible."

"Monsieur," said Jeanne to the speaker, who was a stout man, with quick observant eyes, "did you say the queen?"

"Oh! madame, there is no doubt of it."

"And where is she?"

"Why, that young lady that you see there, on the violet cushions, and in such a state that she cannot moderate her transports, is the queen."

"But on what do you found such an idea, monsieur?"

"Simply because it is the queen." And he left Jeanne to go and spread his news among the rest.

She turned from the almost revolting spectacle, and going near to the door, found herself face to face with the two ladies she had seen enter. Scarcely had she seen the elder one than she uttered a cry of surprise.

"What is the matter?" asked the lady.

Jeanne took off her mask, and asked, "Do you recognize me, madame?"

The lady made, but quickly suppressed, a movement of surprise, and said, "No, madame."

"Well, madame, I recognize you, and will give you a proof;" and she drew the box from her pocket, saying, "you left this at my house."

"But supposing this to be true, what makes you so agitated?"

"I am agitated by the danger that your majesty is incurring here."

"Explain yourself."

"Not before you have put on this mask;" and she offered hers to the queen, who, however, did not take it.

"I beg your majesty; there is not an instant to lose."

The queen put on the mask. "And now, pray come away," added Jeanne.

"But why?" said the queen.

"Your majesty has not been seen by any one?"

"I believe not."

"So much the better."

The queen mechanically moved to the door, but said again, "Will you explain yourself?"

"Will not your majesty believe your humble servant for the present, that you were running a great risk?"

"But what risk?"

"I will have the honor to tell your majesty whenever you will grant me an hour's audience; but it would take too long now;" and seeing that the queen looked displeased, "Pray, madame," said she, turning to the Princess Lamballe, "join your petitions to mine that the queen should leave this place immediately."

"I think we had better, madame," said the princess.

"Well, then, I will," answered the queen; then, turning to Madame de la Motte, "You ask for an audience?" she said.

"I beg for that honor, that I may explain this conduct to your majesty."

"Well, bring this box with you, and you shall be admitted; Laurent, the porter, shall have orders to do so." Then going into the street, she called in German, "Kommen sie da, Weber."

A carriage immediately drove up, they got in, and were immediately out of sight.

When they were gone, Madame de la Motte said to herself, "I have done right in this—for the rest, I must consider."



CHAPTER XVIII.

MADEMOISELLE OLIVA.

During this time, the man who had pointed out the fictitious queen to the people touched on the shoulder another man who stood near him, in a shabby dress, and said. "For you, who are a journalist, here is a fine subject for an article."

"How so?" replied the man.

"Shall I tell you?"

"Certainly."

"The danger of being governed by a king who is governed by a queen who indulges in such paroxysms as these."

The journalist laughed. "But the Bastile?" he said.

"Pooh, nonsense! I do not mean you to write it out plainly. Who can interfere with you if you relate the history of Prince Silou and the Princess Etteniotna, Queen of Narfec? What do you say to that?"

"It is an admirable idea!" said the journalist.

"And I do not doubt that a pamphlet called 'The Paroxysms of the Princess Etteniotna at the house of the Fakeer Remsem' would have a great success."

"I believe it also."

"Then go and do it."

The journalist pressed the hand of the unknown. "Shall I send you some copies, sir? I will with pleasure if you will give me your name."

"Certainly; the idea pleases me. What is the usual circulation of your journal?"

"Two thousand."

"Then do me a favor: take these fifty louis, and publish six thousand."

"Oh, sir, you overwhelm me. May I not know the name of such a generous patron of literature?"

"You shall know, when I call for one thousand copies—at two francs each, are they not? Will they be ready in a week?"

"I will work night and day, monsieur."

"Let it be amusing."

"It shall make all Paris die with laughing, except one person."

"Who will weep over it. Apropos, date the publication from London."

"Sir, I am your humble servant." And the journalist took his leave, with his fifty louis in his pocket, highly delighted.

The unknown again turned to look at the young woman, who had now subsided into a state of exhaustion, and looked beautiful as she lay there. "Really," he said to himself, "the resemblance is frightful. God had his motives in creating it, and has no doubt condemned her to whom the resemblance is so strong."

While he made these reflections, she rose slowly from the midst of the cushions, assisting herself with the arm of an attendant, and began to arrange her somewhat disordered toilet, and then traversed the rooms, confronting boldly the looks of the people. She was somewhat astonished, however, when she found herself saluted with deep and respectful bows by a group which had already been assembled by the indefatigable stranger, who kept whispering, "Never mind, gentlemen, never mind, she is still the Queen of France; let us salute her." She next entered the courtyard, and looked about for a coach or chair, but, seeing none, was about to set off on foot, when a footman approached and said, "Shall I call madame's carriage?"

"I have none," she replied.

"Madame came in a coach?"

"Yes."

"From the Rue Dauphine?"

"Yes."

"I will take madame home."

"Do so, then," said she, although somewhat surprised at the offer.

The man made a sign, and a carriage drove up. He opened the door for her, and then said to the coachman, "To the Rue Dauphine." They set off, and the young woman, who much approved of this mode of transit, regretted she had not further to go. They soon stopped, however; the footman handed her out, and immediately drove off again.

"Really," said she to herself, "this is an agreeable adventure; it is very gallant of M. Mesmer. Oh, I am very tired, and he must have foreseen that. He is a great doctor."

Saying these words, she mounted to the second story, and knocked at a door, which was quickly opened by an old woman.

"Is supper ready, mother?"

"Yes, and growing cold."

"Has he come?"

"No, not yet, but the gentleman has."

"What gentleman?"

"He who was to speak to you this evening."

"To me?"

"Yes."

This colloquy took place in a kind of ante-chamber opening into her room, which was furnished with old curtains of yellow silk, chairs of green Utrecht velvet, not very new, and an old yellow sofa.

She opened the door, and, going in, saw a man seated on the sofa whom she did not know in the least, although we do, for it was the same man whom we have seen taking so much interest in her at Mesmer's.

She had not time to question him, for he began immediately: "I know all that you are going to ask, and will tell you without asking. You are Mademoiselle Oliva, are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"A charming person, highly nervous, and much taken by the system of M. Mesmer."

"I have just left there."

"All this, however, your beautiful eyes are saying plainly, does not explain what brings me here."

"You are right, sir."

"Will you not do me the favor to sit down, or I shall be obliged to get up also, and that is an uncomfortable way of talking."

"Really, sir, you have very extraordinary manners."

"Mademoiselle, I saw you just now at M. Mesmer's, and found you to be all I could wish."

"Sir!"

"Do not alarm yourself, mademoiselle. I do not tell you that I found you charming—that would seem like a declaration of love, and I have no such intention. I know that you are accustomed to have yourself called beautiful, but I, who also think so, have other things to talk to you about."

"Really, sir, the manner in which you speak to me——"

"Do not get angry before you have heard me. Is there any one that can overhear us?"

"No, sir, no one. But still——"

"Then, if no one can hear, we can converse at our ease. What do you say to a little partnership between us?"

"Really, sir——"

"Do not misunderstand; I do not say 'liaison'—I say partnership; I am not talking of love, but of business."

"What kind of business?" said Oliva, with growing curiosity.

"What do you do all day?"

"Why, I do nothing, or, at least, as little as possible."

"You have no occupation—so much the better. Do you like walking?"

"Very much."

"To see sights, and go to balls?"

"Excessively."

"To live well?"

"Above all things."

"If I gave you twenty-five louis a month, would you refuse me?"

"Sir!"

"My dear Mademoiselle Oliva, now you are beginning to doubt me again, and it was agreed that you were to listen quietly. I will say fifty louis if you like."

"I like fifty louis better than twenty-five, but what I like better than either is to be able to choose my own lover."

"Morbleu! but I have already told you that I do not desire to be your lover. Set your mind at ease about that."

"Then what am I to do to earn my fifty louis?"

"You must receive me at your house, and always be glad to see me. Walk out with me whenever I desire it, and come to me whenever I send for you."

"But I have a lover, sir."

"Well, dismiss him."

"Oh, Beausire cannot be sent away like that!"

"I will help you."

"No; I love him."

"Oh!"

"A little."

"That is just a little too much."

"I cannot help it."

"Then he may stop."

"You are very obliging."

"Well—but do my conditions suit you?"

"Yes, if you have told me all."

"I believe I have said all I wish to say now."

"On your honor?"

"On my honor."

"Very well."

"Then that is settled; and here is the first month in advance."

He held out the money, and, as she still seemed to hesitate a little, slipped it himself into her pocket.

Scarcely had he done so, when a knock at the door made Oliva run to the window. "Good God!" she cried; "escape quickly; here he is!"

"Who?"

"Beausire, my lover. Be quick, sir!"

"Nonsense!"

"He will half murder you."

"Bah!"

"Do you hear how he knocks?"

"Well, open the door." And he sat down again on the sofa, saying to himself, "I must see this fellow, and judge what he is like."

The knocks became louder, and mingled with oaths.

"Go, mother, and open the door," cried Oliva. "As for you, sir, if any harm happens to you, it is your own fault."



CHAPTER XIX.

MONSIEUR BEAUSIRE.

Oliva ran to meet a man, who came in swearing furiously, and in a frightful passion.

"Come, Beausire," said she, apparently not at all frightened.

"Let me alone!" cried he, shaking her off brutally. "Ah! I see, it was because there is a man here that the door was not opened!" And as the visitor remained perfectly still, he advanced furiously towards him, saying, "Will you answer me, sir?"

"What do you want to know, my dear M. Beausire?"

"What are you doing here, and who are you?"

"I am a very quiet man, and I was simply talking to madame."

"That was all," said Oliva.

"Will you hold your tongue?" bawled Beausire.

"Now," said the visitor, "do not be so rude to madame, who has done nothing to deserve it; and if you are in a bad temper——"

"Yes, I am."

"He must have lost at cards," murmured Oliva.

"I am cleaned out, mort de diable!" cried Beausire. "But you, sir, will do me the favor to leave this room."

"But, M. Beausire——"

"Diable! if you do not go immediately it will be the worse for you."

"You did not tell me, mademoiselle, that he was troubled with these fits. Good heavens! what ferocity!"

Beausire, exasperated, drew his sword, and roared, "If you do not move, I will pin you to the sofa!"

"Really, it is impossible to be more disagreeable," said the visitor, also drawing a small sword, which they had not before seen.

Oliva uttered piercing shrieks.

"Oh, mademoiselle, pray be quiet," said he, "or two things will happen: first, you will stun M. Beausire, and he will get killed; secondly, the watch will come up and carry you straight off to St. Lazare."

Oliva ceased her cries.

The scene that ensued was curious. Beausire, furious with rage, was making wild and unskilful passes at his adversary, who, still seated on the sofa, parried them with the utmost ease, laughing immoderately all the time.

Beausire began to grow tired and also frightened, for he felt that if this man, who was now content to stand on the defensive, were to attack him in his turn, he should be done for in a moment. Suddenly, however, by a skilful movement, the stranger sent Beausire's sword flying across the room; it went through an open window, and fell into the street.

"Oh, M. Beausire," said he, "you should take more care; if your sword falls on any one, it will kill him."

Beausire ran down at his utmost speed to fetch his sword, and meanwhile, Oliva, seizing the hand of the victor, said:

"Oh, sir, you are very brave; but as soon as you are gone, Beausire will beat me."

"Then I will remain."

"Oh, no; when he beats me, I beat him in return, and I always get the best of it, because I am not obliged to take any care; so if you would but go, sir——"

"But, my dear, if I go now, I shall meet M. Beausire on the stairs; probably the combat will recommence, and as I shall not feel inclined to stand on the staircase, I shall have to kill M. Beausire."

"Mon Dieu! it is true."

"Well, then, to avoid that I will remain here."

"No, sir, I entreat; go up to the next story, and as soon as he returns to this room I will lock the door and take the key, and you can walk away while we fight it out."

"You are a charming girl. Au revoir!"

"Till when?"

"To-night, if you please."

"To-night! are you mad?"

"Not at all; but there is a ball at the Opera to-night."

"But it is now midnight."

"That does not matter."

"I should want a domino."

"Beausire will fetch it when you have beaten him."

"You are right," said Oliva, laughing.

"And here are ten louis to buy it with."

"Adieu! and thanks." And she pushed him out, saying, "Quick! he is coming back."

"But if by chance he should beat you, how will you let me know?"

She reflected a moment. "You have a servant?"

"Yes."

"Send him here, and let him wait under the window till I let a note fall."

"I will. Adieu!" And he went up-stairs.

Oliva drowned the sound of his footsteps by calling loudly to Beausire, "Are you coming back, madman?" for he did not seem in much hurry to reencounter his formidable adversary. At last, however, he came up. Oliva was standing outside the door; she pushed him in, locked it, and put the key in her pocket.

Before the stranger left the house, he heard the noise of the combat begin, and both voices loud and furious. "There is no doubt," said he to himself, "that this woman knows how to take care of herself." His carriage was waiting for him at the corner of the street, but before getting in he spoke to the footman, who thereupon stationed himself within view of Mademoiselle Oliva's windows.



CHAPTER XX.

GOLD.

We must now return to the interior of the room. Beausire was much surprised to see Oliva lock the door, and still more so not to see his adversary. He began to feel triumphant, for if he was hiding from him he must, he thought, be afraid of him. He therefore began to search for him; but Oliva talked so loud and fast that he advanced towards her to try and stop her, but was received with a box on the ear, which he returned in kind. Oliva replied by throwing a china vase at his head, and his answer was a blow with a cane. She, furious, flew at him and seized him by the throat, and he, trying to free himself, tore her dress.

Then, with a cry, she pushed him from her with such force that he fell in the middle of the room.

He began to get tired of this, so he said, without commencing another attack, "You are a wicked creature; you ruin me."

"On the contrary, it is you who ruin me."

"Oh, I ruin her!—she who has nothing!"

"Say that I have nothing now, say that you have eaten, and drank, and played away all that I had."

"You reproach me with my poverty."

"Yes, for it comes from your vices."

"Do not talk of vices; it only remained for you to take a lover."

"And what do you call all those wretches who sit by you in the tennis-court, where you play?"

"I play to live."

"And nicely you succeed; we should die of hunger from your industry."

"And you, with yours, are obliged to cry if you get your dress torn, because you have nothing to buy another with."

"I do better than you, at all events;" and, putting her hand in her pocket, she drew out some gold and threw it across the room.

When Beausire saw this, he remained stupefied.

"Louis!" cried he at last.

She took out some more, and threw them in his face.

"Oh!" cried he, "Oliva has become rich!"

"This is what my industry brings in," said she, pushing him with her foot as he kneeled down to pick up the gold.

"Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen," counted he, joyfully.

"Miserable wretch!" said Oliva.

"Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two."

"Coward!"

"Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five."

"Infamous wretch!"

He got up. "And so, mademoiselle, you have been saving money when you kept me without necessaries. You let me go about in an old hat, darned stockings, and patched clothes, while you had all this money! Where does it come from! From the sale of my things?"

"Scoundrel!" murmured Oliva, looking at him with contempt.

"But I pardon your avarice," continued he.

"You would have killed me just now," said Oliva.

"Then I should have been right; now I should be wrong to do it."

"Why, if you please?"

"Because now you contribute to our menage."

"You are a base wretch.'"

"My little Oliva!"

"Give me back my money."

"Oh, my darling!"

"If you do not, I will pass your own sword through your body!"

"Oliva!"

"Will you give it?"

"Oh, you would not take it away?"

"Ah, coward! you beg, you solicit for the fruits of my bad conduct—that is what they call a man! I have always despised you."

"I gave to you when I could, Nicole."

"Do not call me Nicole."

"Pardon, then, Oliva. But is it not true?"

"Fine presents, certainly: some silver buckles, six louis d'or, two silk dresses, and three embroidered handkerchiefs."

"It is a great deal for a soldier."

"Hold your tongue! The buckles you stole from some one else, the louis d'or you borrowed and never returned, the silk dresses——"

"Oliva! Oliva!"

"Give me back my money."

"What shall I give you instead?"

"Double the quantity."



"Well," said the rogue, gravely, "I will go to the Rue de Bussy and play with it, and bring you back, not the double, but the quintuple;" and he made two steps to the door.

She caught him by the coat.

"There," said he, "you have torn my coat."

"Never mind; you shall have a new one."

"That will be six louis, Oliva. Luckily, at the Rue de Bussy they are not particular about dress."

Oliva seized hold of the other tail, and tore it right off.

Beausire became furious.

"Mort de tous les diables!" cried he, "you will make me kill you at last! You are tearing me to bits! Now I cannot go out."

"On the contrary, you must go out immediately."

"Without a coat?"

"Put on your great-coat."

"It is all in holes."

"Then do not put it on; but you must go out."

"I will not."

She took out of her pocket another handful of gold, and put it into his hands.

Beausire kneeled at her feet and cried, "Order, and I will obey!"

"Go quickly to the Capucin, Rue de Seine, where they sell dominoes for the bal masque, and buy me one complete, mask and all."

"Good."

"And one for yourself—black, but mine white; and I only give you twenty minutes to do it in."

"Are we going to the ball?"

"Yes, if you are obedient."

"Oh, always."

"Go, then, and show your zeal."

"I run; but the money?"

"You have twenty-five louis, that you picked up."

"Oh, Oliva, I thought you meant to give me those."

"You shall have more another time, but if I give you them now, you will stop and play."

"She is right," said he to himself; "that is just what I intended to do;" and he set off.

As soon as he was gone, Oliva wrote rapidly these words: "The peace is signed, and the ball decided on; at two o'clock we shall be at the Opera. I shall wear a white domino, with a blue ribbon on my left shoulder." Then, rolling this round a bit of the broken vase, she went to the window and threw it out.

The valet picked it up, and made off immediately.

In less than half an hour M. Beausire returned, followed by two men, bringing, at the cost of eighteen louis, two beautiful dominoes, such as were only turned out at the Capucin, makers to her majesty and the maids of honor.



CHAPTER XXI.

LA PETITE MAISON.

We left Madame de la Motte at M. Mesmer's door, watching the queen's carriage as it drove off. Then she went home; for she also intended to put on a domino, and indulge herself by going to the Opera. But a contretemps awaited her: a man was waiting at her door with a note from the Cardinal de Rohan. She opened it, and read as follows:

"Madame la Comtesse, you have doubtless not forgotten that we have business together; even if you have a short memory, I never forget what has pleased me. I shall have the honor to wait for you where my messenger will conduct you, if you please to come."

Jeanne, although rather vexed, immediately reentered the coach, and told the footman to get on the box with the coachman. Ten minutes sufficed to bring her to the entrance of the Faubourg St. Antoine, where, in a hollow and completely hidden by great trees, was one of those pretty houses built in the time of Louis XV., with all the taste of the sixteenth, with the comfort of the eighteenth, century.

"Oh, oh! a petite maison!" said she to herself. "It is very natural on the part of M. de Rohan, but very humiliating for Valois. But, patience."

She was led from room to room till she came to a small dining-room, fitted up with exquisite taste. There she found the cardinal waiting for her. He was looking over some pamphlets, but rose immediately on seeing her.

"Ah, here you are. Thanks, Madame la Comtesse," and he approached to kiss her hand; but she drew back with a reproachful and indignant air.

"What is the matter, madame?" he asked.

"You are, doubtless, not accustomed, monseigneur, to receive such a greeting from the women whom your eminence is in the habit of summoning here."

"Oh! madame."

"We are in your petite maison, are we not, sir?" continued she, looking disdainfully around her.

"But, madame——"

"I had hoped that your eminence would have deigned to remember in what rank I was born. I had hoped that you would have been pleased to consider, that if God has made me poor, He has at least left me the pride of my race."

"Come, come, countess, I took you for a woman of intellect."

"You call a woman of intellect, it appears, monseigneur, every one who is indifferent to, and laughs at, everything, even dishonor. To these women, pardon me, your eminence, I have been in the habit of giving a different name."

"No, countess, you deceive yourself; I call a woman of intellect one who listens when you speak to her, and does not speak before having listened."

"I listen, then."

"I had to speak to you of serious matters, countess."

"Therefore you receive me in a dining-room."

"Why, would you have preferred my receiving you in a boudoir?"

"The distinction is nice," said she.

"I think so, countess."

"Then I am simply to sup with you?"

"Nothing else."

"I trust your eminence is persuaded that I feel the honor as I ought."

"You are quizzing, countess."

"No, I only laugh; would you rather I were angry? You are difficult to please, monseigneur."

"Oh; you are charming when you laugh, and I ask nothing better than to see you always doing so; but at this moment you are not laughing; oh, no! there is anger in that smile which shows your beautiful teeth."

"Not the least in the world, monseigneur."

"That is good."

"And I hope you will sup well."

"I shall sup well, and you?"

"Oh, I am not hungry."

"How, madame, you refuse to sup with me—you send me away?"

"I do not understand you, monseigneur."

"Listen, dear countess; if you were less in a passion, I would tell you that it is useless to behave like this—you are always equally charming; but as at each compliment I fear to be dismissed, I abstain."

"You fear to be dismissed? Really, I beg pardon of your eminence, but you become unintelligible."

"It is, however, quite clear, what I say. The other day, when I came to see you, you complained that you were lodged unsuitably to your rank. I thought, therefore, that to restore you to your proper place would be like restoring air to the bird whom the experimenter has placed under his air-pump. Consequently, beautiful countess, that you might receive me with pleasure, and that I, on my part, might visit you without compromising either you or myself——" He stopped and looked at her.

"Well!" she said.

"I hoped that you would deign to accept this small residence; you observe, I do not call it 'petite maison.'"

"Accept! you give me this house, monseigneur?" said Jeanne, her heart beating with eagerness.

"A very small gift, countess; but if I had offered you more, you would have refused."

"Oh, monseigneur, it is impossible for me to accept this."

"Impossible, why? Do not say that word to me, for I do not believe in it. The house belongs to you, the keys are here on this silver plate; do you find out another humiliation in this?"

"No, but——"

"Then accept."

"Monseigneur, I have told you."

"How, madame? you write to the ministers for a pension, you accept a hundred louis from an unknown lady——"

"Oh, monseigneur, it is different."

"Come, I have waited for you in your dining-room. I have not yet seen the boudoir, nor the drawing-room, nor the bedrooms, for I suppose there are all these."

"Oh, monseigneur, forgive me; you force me to confess that you the most delicate of men," and she blushed with the pleasure she had been so long restraining. But checking herself, she sat down and said, "Now, will your eminence give me my supper?"

The cardinal took off his cloak, and sat down also.

Supper was served in a few moments. Jeanne put on her mask before the servants came in.

"It is I who ought to wear a mask," said the cardinal, "for you are at home, among your own people."

Jeanne laughed, but did not take hers off. In spite of her pleasure and surprise, she made a good supper. The cardinal was a man of much talent, and from his great knowledge of the world and of women, he was a man difficult to contend with, and he thought that this country girl, full of pretension, but who, in spite of her pride, could not conceal her greediness, would be an easy conquest, worth undertaking on account of her beauty, and of a something piquant about her, very pleasing to a man "blase" like him. He therefore never took pains to be much on his guard with her; and she, more cunning than he thought, saw through his opinion of her, and tried to strengthen it by playing the provincial coquette, and appearing silly, that her adversary might be in reality weak in his over-confidence.

The cardinal thought her completely dazzled by the present he had made her—and so, indeed, she was; but he forgot that he himself was below the mark of the ambition of a woman like Jeanne.

"Come," said he, pouring out for her a glass of cyprus wine, "as you have signed your contract with me, you will not be unfriendly any more, countess."

"Oh no!"

"You will receive me here sometimes without repugnance?"

"I shall never be so ungrateful as to forget whose house this really is."

"Not mine."

"Oh yes, monseigneur."

"Do not contradict me, I advise you, or I shall begin to impose conditions."

"You take care on your part——"

"Of what?"

"Why, I am at home here, you know, and if your conditions are unreasonable, I shall call my servants——"

The cardinal laughed.

"Ah, you laugh, sir; you think if I call they will not come."

"Oh, you quite mistake, countess. I am nothing here, only your guest. Apropos," continued he, as if it had just entered his head, "have you heard anything more of the ladies who came to see you?"

"The ladies of the portrait?" said Jeanne, who, now knowing the queen, saw through the artifice.

"Yes, the ladies of the portrait."

"Monseigneur, you know them as well and even better than I do, I feel sure."

"Oh, countess, you do me wrong. Did you not express a wish to learn who they were?"

"Certainly; it is natural to desire to know your benefactors."

"Well, if knew, I should have told you."

"M. le Cardinal, you do know them."

"No."

"If you repeat that 'no,' I shall have to call you a liar."

"I shall know how to avenge that insult."

"How?"

"With a kiss."

"You know the portrait of Maria Theresa?"

"Certainly, but what of that?"

"That, having recognized this portrait, you must have had some suspicion of the person to whom it belonged."

"And why?"

"Because it was natural to think that the portrait of a mother would only be in the hands of her daughter."

"The queen!" cried the cardinal, with so truthful a tone of surprise that it duped even Jeanne. "Do you really think the queen came to see you?"

"And you did not suspect it?"

"Mon Dieu, no! how should I? I, who speak to you, am neither son, daughter, nor even relation of Maria Theresa, yet I have a portrait of her about me at this moment. Look," said he—and he drew out a snuff-box and showed it to her; "therefore you see that if I, who am in no way related to the imperial house, carry about such a portrait, another might do the same, and yet be a stranger."

Jeanne was silent—she had nothing to answer.

"Then it is your opinion," he went on, "that you have had a visit from the queen, Marie Antoinette."

"The queen and another lady."

"Madame de Polignac?"

"I do not know."

"Perhaps Madame de Lamballe?"

"A young lady, very beautiful and very serious."

"Oh, perhaps Mademoiselle de Taverney."

"It is possible; I do not know her."

"Well, if her majesty has really come to visit you, you are sure of her protection. It is a great step towards your fortune."

"I believe it, monseigneur."

"And her majesty was generous to you?"

"She gave me a hundred louis."

"And she is not rich, particularly now."

"That doubles my gratitude."

"Did she show much interest in you?"

"Very great."

"Then all goes well," said the prelate; "there only remains one thing now—to penetrate to Versailles."

The countess smiled.

"Ah, countess, it is not so easy."

She smiled again, more significantly than before.

"Really, you provincials," said he, "doubt nothing; because you have seen Versailles with the doors open, and stairs to go up, you think any one may open these doors and ascend these stairs. Have you seen the monsters of brass, of marble, and of lead, which adorn the park and the terraces?"

"Yes."

"Griffins, gorgons, ghouls, and other ferocious beasts. Well, you will find ten times as many, and more wicked, living animals between you and the favor of sovereigns."

"Your eminence will aid me to pass through the ranks of these monsters."

"I will try, but it will be difficult. And if you pronounce my name, if you discover your talisman, it will lose all its power."

"Happily, then, I am guarded by the immediate protection of the queen, and I shall enter Versailles with a good key."

"What key, countess?"

"Ah, Monsieur le Cardinal, that is my secret—or rather it is not, for if it were mine, I should feel bound to tell it to my generous protector."

"There is, then, an obstacle, countess?"

"Alas! yes, monseigneur. It is not my secret, and I must keep it. Let it suffice you to know that to-morrow I shall go to Versailles; that I shall be received, and, I have every reason to hope, well received."

The cardinal looked at her with wonder. "Ah, countess," said he, laughing, "I shall see if you will get in."

"You will push your curiosity so far as to follow me?"

"Exactly."

"Very well."

"Really, countess, you are a living enigma."

"One of those monsters who inhabit Versailles."

"Oh, you believe me a man of taste, do you not?"

"Certainly, monseigneur."

"Well, here I am at your knees, and I take your hand and kiss it. Should I do that if I thought you a monster?"

"I beg you, sir, to remember," said Jeanne coldly, "that I am neither a grisette nor an opera girl; that I am my own mistress, feeling myself the equal of any man in this kingdom. Therefore I shall take freely and spontaneously, when it shall please me, the man who will have gained my affections. Therefore, monseigneur, respect me a little, and, in me, the nobility to which we both belong."

The cardinal rose. "I see," said he, "you wish me to love you seriously."

"I do not say that; but I wish to be able to love you. When that day comes—if it does comes—you will easily find it out, believe me. If you do not, I will let you know it; for I feel young enough and attractive enough not to mind making the first advances, nor to fear a repulse."