Louis the Well-Beloved (36 page)

She felt sentimental tonight. Occasions such as this reminded her of the festivities which had followed her own marriage. Then they had been together, she and Louis – Louis a boy the same age as today’s bridegroom. Did Louis remember, when he had seen their son with his bride, so happy to have her with him?

This wedding is so like ours, she thought. Poor Marie-Thérèse-Raphaëlle! I hope she will be happier than I have been.

But a King must have his mistresses, it seemed. Her dear father, Stanislas, was far from guiltless in that respect; and it was the lot of Queens to look on with resignation at the women their husbands loved.

Now Louis was dancing with a woman who was dressed in a flowing gown, and who was evidently meant to represent a huntress, because she carried a bow and arrow slung over her shoulder.

A creature, thought the Queen, of infinite grace; and she was deeply conscious of her own ungainly figure.

She sighed and allowed the Duc de Richelieu to sit beside her and entertain her with his dry comments on the company.

She decided to leave the ball early.

‘Such entertainments,’ she said, ‘are not for me. I prefer the quiet of my apartments.’

She was relieved that, as this was a masked ball, she could leave without fuss. As she went she noticed that the King was talking animatedly with the masked huntress.

The huntress was saying: ‘Sire, you could not hide your identity from me. I will confess I knew who you were as soon as you spoke to me.’

‘You did not appear to be addressing the King.’

‘It is a masque, Sire.’

‘And now that I am exposed, you must tell me where I have met you before.’

‘Your Majesty cannot remember?’

Louis desperately sought for the right answer. She was enchanting, this woman; he was sure that she was beautiful. Her body was fragrant, supple and yielding; and no mask could hide her charms. Vaguely he knew her, and yet he could not recall where they had met before. Surely he should have remembered. He was calling to mind all the women of the Court.

‘I must remind you, Sire. Do you remember a certain rainy day in the forest of Sénart?’

‘Ah!’ cried Louis. ‘I have it now. You were my charming hostess.’ He was melancholy for a moment, remembering that then Madame de Châteauroux had been with him; but she had been rather tiresome, and he had wanted to know more of the châtelaine of the house near the forest. He was trying now to recall her name. ‘It was so good of you,’ he went on, ‘to give us shelter.’

‘Sire, it was the happiest day of my life.’

He could see her gleaming eyes through the mask. She flattered, but in a charming, innocent way. He was delighted with her and now, remembering her, he need not fear that when the mask was removed it would disclose some flaw. The young woman of the woods had been one of the prettiest he had ever seen.

‘I admired your carriages so much,’ he told her.

‘So Your Majesty noticed them!’

‘How could I fail to do so?’

‘Had I known . . .’

‘That would have been the happiest day of your life,’ he said lightly and mockingly. Then he saw the faint flush on her neck and added: ‘Forgive me. I . . . but meant to joke.’

‘Your Majesty would ask pardon of
me
!’

She was certainly enchanting. How different she would be from dear Madame de Châteauroux or Madame de Vintimille! More of the nature of Madame de Mailly, but a thousand times prettier.

He said: ‘Tell me, how is it you are here tonight?’

‘Monsieur Lenormant de Tourneheim procured the invitation for me.’

‘I feel very pleased with Monsieur Lenormant de Tourneheim.’

‘Oh . . .’ she paused and her body seemed to droop into sadness.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘I was remembering that Your Majesty is the most courteous man in France. I was foolish enough to think that the kind things you have said to me were for me . . . only for me.’

He touched her hand lightly. ‘If you thought that they were for you only . . . tell me, would this be? . . .’

She burst out laughing; it was delightful, spontaneous laughter and it showed her perfect, white teeth.

She lifted her head suddenly and he saw the beautiful neck, white as milk, strong yet graceful. She said boldly: ‘Yes, it
would
be the happiest night of my life.’

Others had heard the laughter and Louis became aware that many were watching them. He was reluctant to commit himself. He knew who she was. Their adventure could go no farther tonight, as he must remain at the ball until the end, which would not be until morning.

He said: ‘The time has come for me to remove my mask and go among the guests.’

Then he left her.

He took off his mask, and the company remained silent for a few seconds before the bowing and curtseying began.

‘I give the order to unmask,’ said Louis.

Everyone obeyed and the dancers turned to look at each other with cries of astonishment, both feigned and real.

‘I pray you, carry on with your pleasure,’ continued Louis as, waving his hand and smiling, he turned to speak to a lovely woman whom he complimented on her costume.

Then he strolled among the guests, stopping to talk here and there, but usually with the women, the most charming or the most beautiful.

She saw him coming towards her, and held her breath with trepidation. It was so much easier to talk to him wearing a mask, now she was afraid, afraid of taking one false step which might be an end of the dream.

He was smiling when he saw her as though he was seeking her alone in the vast crowd. Yet she was wise enough to know that was the secret of his charm – whether it was exerted for the benefit of the humblest soldier on the battlefield or the most ambitious woman at Versailles.

‘Madame,’ he said, ‘your costume too . . . it is charming.’

Her legs trembled as she curtsied to the ground. Was it too deep a curtsey? Was it the way women curtsied at Versailles? Versailles was full of pitfalls for those who had never learned its etiquette. She must take care.

‘You are a dangerous huntress,’ he said lightly. ‘I believe your arrows could wound . . . mortally.’

Those standing near laughed lightly, and she, wondering afterwards whether she did it on purpose or whether it was an accident, dropped her little lace handkerchief to the floor. It fell at the King’s feet.

Louis looked at it and stooping picked it up. He smiled and tossed it to her. Then he passed on.

Those close by exchanged glances. Was it a gesture? Did it mean something? The King to pick up the woman’s handkerchief . . . and to throw it to her in that manner! It was like an invitation . . . given and accepted.

Could it be that the King this night had really chosen his new mistress?

She could scarcely wait for her carriage to take her home. Madame Poisson had not gone to bed. How could she on such an occasion? She was anxiously waiting to hear what had occurred.

She embraced her daughter. ‘Oh, but you are lovely . . . lovely! I’ll swear there was not any lady at the ball half as beautiful.’ She looked into her daughter’s shining eyes. ‘Well, my love?’

‘He danced with me. He talked to me. He seemed as though he liked me.’

‘And he suggested that you should go to the Palace?’

Jeanne-Antoinette shook her head dolefully.

‘That’s how it is done,’ said Madame Poisson. ‘There is a supper party in one of the little rooms. Just one or two guests and then, after the party, he waves his hand and they disappear. The two of you are left alone together. Are you sure he didn’t say anything about a supper party?’

‘Yes,
Maman
.’

Madame Poisson lifted her shoulders. ‘Well, the fortress wasn’t captured in a day.’

‘In a day! We have been fifteen years preparing for the capture.’

‘But he liked you, did he not?’

‘I swear he did.’

‘Come, let me comb your hair. You must see him again soon. He is a man who would acquire the habit of seeing a woman and want to go on seeing her.’

She helped her daughter to bed, and there she lay, her eyes brilliant with reminiscence, her lovely hair spread out on the pillow.

If he could only see her now, thought Madame de Poisson.
Morceau du roi!
There never was a better.

It only showed, said Madame Poisson, that it was foolish to despair, for next morning, a carriage drew up outside the Hôtel de Gesvres and a man alighted.

He asked for Madame d’Etioles, and when, in the company of her mother, Jeanne-Antoinette received him, he told her that his name was Le Bel and that he was one of the King’s principal
valets de chambre
.

‘You are invited, Madame,’ he said, ‘to join a supper party which His Majesty is giving after the ball at the Hôtel-de-Ville. It is a small party.’

‘I am honoured,’ said Jeanne-Antoinette.

And when the King’s messenger had gone, she and Madame Poisson looked at each other for a second in silence; then they put their arms about each other in a tight hug.

Their laughter verged on the hysterical. This was the dream, which had begun in the fortune-teller’s tent, come true.

‘There is no doubt what this means!’ cried Madame Poisson at length, extricating herself. ‘And there is much to do. You must have a new gown. Rose-coloured, I think. We must get to work at once. What a blessing Charles-Guillaume is away on business.’

Jeanne-Antoinette paused in her joy, which seemed to be touched with something like delirium; she had forgotten Charles-Guillaume who loved her with a passion which his uncle had likened to madness.

But she had always told him that she could only be a faithful wife until the King claimed her. There was no avoiding her destiny.

The ball at the Hôtel-de-Ville was very different from that which had taken place at Versailles. The people of Paris had determined to take a more active part in the celebrations, and they stormed the building and danced among the nobility.

Jeanne-Antoinette, accompanied by Lenormant and her mother, was alarmed. The Dauphin and his bride were present but they decided to leave as early as possible, and so rowdy had the company grown that no one noticed their departure.

On the road to Versailles the two royal carriages met. The Dauphin called a halt and, getting out of his, went to that in which the King sat.

‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I advise you not to go on to the Hôtel-de-Ville. The people have broken in. It is like a madhouse.’

The King smiled. ‘Where is the Dauphine?’

‘In her carriage.’

‘Then take her back to Versailles. I shall go on. For, my son, you have your business at Versailles to attend to; mine tonight takes me into Paris.’

The King, unrecognised and accompanied by Richelieu, pushed his way through the crowd. Eventually he saw her sitting with her mother and Lenormant. He sent Richelieu to them.

Richelieu went to their table and bowed.

‘Madame,’ said the Duc, ‘I believe you await a friend.’

‘It is so,’ began Jeanne-Antoinette.

Richelieu swept his eyes over Madame Poisson’s ample but still attractive form.

‘His Majesty eagerly awaits you. Pray consider his impatience and come at once.’

‘Go along now,’ said Madame Poisson. ‘We will go home. May good fortune attend you.’