The Châtelet Apprentice (38 page)

‘So here is your protégé, Sartine, to whom we are much indebted. La Borde has spoken to me of him.'

The Lieutenant General did not hide his astonishment.

‘I had not realised that Monsieur Le Floch was so popular, Sire.'

The King beckoned to Nicolas.

‘Monsieur, I wish to hear your personal account of a matter close to my heart. I am listening.'

Without a second thought Nicolas plunged straight in. His future was probably at stake and in his situation others would have seized this opportunity by drawing on all their personal
resources and making every effort to charm. He chose to speak simply, clearly and colourfully, though not overly so, suggesting rather than describing, not asserting himself too much and giving Monsieur de Sartine far more credit than he deserved. The King interrupted him several times, asking for more details about the post-mortems on the bodies, before giving up the subject at Madame de Pompadour's request, since these morbid details horrified her. Nicolas managed to be sparkling yet modest, and dramatic when the situation required. What he said was interesting without being overlong. The King, engrossed in the account, seemed suddenly younger: there was a brightness in his expression once more. Nicolas concluded his account and stepped back a pace. With a charming smile the marquise held out her hand for him to kiss, a hand that to the young man seemed feverish.

‘Thank you, Monsieur,' she said, ‘we owe you a great deal. His Majesty, I am sure, will not forget the services you have rendered us.'

The King got up and took a few steps.

‘The King is the first gentleman of the Kingdom, as my forbear Henry the Fourth used to say, and will reward in a manner befitting the son of one of his most faithful servants, one of those noble Bretons, who three years ago spared no effort in the fight against the English.'
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Nicolas understood nothing of this: it was as if the words had been addressed to someone else. Sartine remained impassive. La Borde was open-mouthed. The marquise looked at the King in surprise.

‘I did indeed say the son of one of my servants,' the King went on. ‘Monsieur,' he said, looking at Nicolas, ‘your
godfather, the Marquis de Ranreuil, who has just died and whose service I do not forget, presented me with a letter in which he officially recognises you as his natural son. It is my great pleasure to inform you of this and to restore to you the name and titles that are yours.'

A long silence followed these words. Nicolas threw himself at the King's feet.

‘Sire, I beg Your Majesty to forgive me, but I cannot accept.'

The King jerked his head back.

‘On what grounds, Monsieur?'

‘To accept, Your Majesty, would be to betray the memory of my … my father, and would deprive Mademoiselle de Ranreuil of an inheritance that is rightfully hers. I renounce it, as I do my title. I have already had the good fortune to serve Your Majesty. I beg to be able to continue to do so under my own name.'

‘So be it, Monsieur.'

He turned towards the marquise.

‘Here is a very rare example and one that restores our faith in human nature.'

Then, turning again towards Nicolas, he said:

‘The marquis wrote to me that you were an excellent huntsman, as he was.'

‘Sire, I did my apprenticeship under him.'

‘You will always be welcome at my hunt. La Borde, Monsieur Le Floch is to have the privilege of hunting the stag. He is to be exempted from wearing the beginners' uniform.
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For the rest, Monsieur de Sartine will make my wishes known to Monsieur Le Floch.'

The audience was at an end. They withdrew. In the gallery, the First Groom of the Bedchamber congratulated Nicolas.

‘The King has admitted you to his hunt. He knows you are a Ranreuil and honours you as such. You have the honours of the Court and the right to ride in the King's carriages.'

Nicolas followed Sartine as if in a dream, and he was not sure he wanted it to end. They returned to their carriage. Sartine was silent until they had left the palace.

‘I had warned the King that you would say no. He didn't believe me.'

‘You knew all along, didn't you?'

‘All along, since your arrival in Paris. Monsieur de Ranreuil loved you. He was very unhappy about the situation he had created. Imagine his anguish at the fondness between you and Mademoiselle de Ranreuil, your sister, and in honour of his memory try to forgive decisions that at the time you could not understand.'

‘I sensed there was a mystery.'

‘Another example of your intuition!'

‘And what about my mother?'

‘She died giving birth to you. You need know no more than that. The marquis was married. She was of noble birth and would have been disgraced.'

‘May I ask, Monsieur, why you thought I would say no?'

‘I have been observing you since your father entrusted you to my care. You are very like him. But what he obtained by birth you have had to earn by your talent. You have already proved that you were able to overcome your weaknesses, despite the misfortune of your birth. If I have sometimes seemed to mistrust you in a way you found hurtful, it was more a reflection of my
concern than a judgement on your worth. I do understand you, Nicolas. I was orphaned at fifteen, without wealth or
connections
. I was Spanish on my father's side. He was the intendant of Catalonia and I was sent off to the college of Harcourt, where from an early age contempt and disdain were heaped upon me. Humiliation is the most powerful of social mechanisms. The nobility opens its doors, but it is often an illusion. And, if we are to believe our philosopher friends, it might be better to be one of the common people in these changing times. Whatever the case,' he added with a smile, ‘it was not very diplomatic to turn down a title that was your due in the presence of a favourite born a Poisson. Fortunately for you she did not seem to take offence.'

He took a bundle of papers out of his coat and handed them to Nicolas.

‘Read this.'

The young man was not sure he understood the meaning of the words before him and Sartine had to explain.

‘His Majesty in his great goodness has seen fit to give you as a token of his satisfaction the position of Commissioner of Police at the Châtelet. The cost of the commission has been paid and you will find a receipt for the fees. The only condition the King attaches to this favour is that you should report directly to me. He intends to use you without any intermediary for matters exclusively related to his service. I dare to presume, Commissioner Le Floch, that this condition will not be too burdensome to you.'

‘Monsieur, without you …'

‘Let's forget about that, Nicolas. It is I who am indebted to you.'

For the rest of the journey Nicolas was unable to control the
flood of emotions surging through him. When the coach had entered Paris he asked Monsieur de Sartine's permission to get out at the College of the Four Nations
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; he wanted to return to Rue Montmartre on foot. The magistrate agreed with a smile. The Seine and, on the other bank, the Garden of the Infanta and the Old Louvre were bathed in the glow of dusk. The air was light, scented with the perfume of grass and flowers. The wind blew away the foul smells of the riverbanks. Small clouds, pink, grey and golden, drifted over the city. Shrill cries heralded the arrival of the swallows.

It was a moment of peace. The thorn that had for so long been embedded in Nicolas's heart and flesh plagued him no more. In the chaos of this world he had found his place. He had set aside the temptation of assuming a rank whose value was dependent on the prejudices of others. From now on he would be his own judge. Having come to terms with the past, a new life was opening up for him, one that he would form with his own hands. He remembered with affection Canon Le Floch and the marquis. Their shades could feel satisfied. He had proved himself worthy of their love and their teachings. The bittersweet image of Isabelle resurfaced as the happy memory of a shared childhood. For a long time he looked towards the setting sun. Over there, far away, ocean waves were breaking upon his native land. He walked back along the
quais
as far as Pont-Neuf, whistling an aria from an opera.