A conspiracy—A scheme for poisoning madame du Barry—Thefour bottles—Letter to the duc d’Aiguillon—Advice of theministers—Opinion of the physicians—The chancellor andlieutenant of police—Resolution of the council
Have you any curiosity to learn the dénouement of the story I was telling you of my anonymous correspondent? Read what follows, then, and your wishes shall be gratified: that is, if you have patience to hear a rather long story; for I cannot promise you that mine will very speedily be completed. Let me see: where did I leave off? Oh, I recollect.
I was telling you that madame de Mirepoix urged me to repair, as I was requested, to the Baths of Apollo. I had a key which opened all the park gates; we entered the park, took the path which turns off to the left, and after having walked for about five minutes, found ourselves opposite the person we were in search of. It was a female of from thirty to forty years of age, of diminutive stature, dressed after the fashion of thebourgeoisesof the day, but still an air of good taste was evident through the simplicity of her attire. Her countenance must once have been handsome, if one might judge by the beauty of her eyes and mouth, but she was pale, withered and already impressed with the traces of a premature old age. But her beauties, although faded, were still animated by a quick and ever-varying expression of a keen and lively wit.
Whilst I made these hasty remarks the stranger saluted me, and afterwards the maréchale de Mirepoix, with a ease of manner which perfectly surprised me. Nor did she in any other instance betray the embarrassment of a person who finds herself for the first time in the presence of persons of a rank superior to her own.
“Madam,” she said, addressing herself to me, “I trust you will pardon me for having given you the trouble of coming hither; I might have spared it you, had your people permitted me to see you when I called at your house yesterday.”
“Your invitation,” replied I, “was so pressingly enforced, that I confess my curiosity has been most keenly awakened.”
“I will immediately satisfy it,” answered she, “but what I have to say must be told to yourself alone.”
“Well, then,” said the maréchale, “I will leave you for the present: I am going to admire that fine group of Girardon”; and so saying, she quitted the walk in which I was standing.
Directly she was gone the stranger said to me, “Madam, I will explain myself without reserve or unnecessary prolixity; I beseech of you to listen attentively whilst I tell you, in the first place, that both your life and that of the king is in imminent danger.”
“Heavens!” cried I, “what do I hear?”
“That which I well know to be true,” answered the female, with a firm voice; “I repeat that your life and that of the king is in danger.”
These words, pronounced in a low, solemn voice, froze me with terror; my limbs tottered under me, and I almost sank to the ground. The stranger assisted me to a bench, offered me her arm, and when she saw me a little recovered, she continued,
“Yes, madam, a conspiracy is afoot against yourself and Louis XV. You are to be made away with out of revenge, and Louis XV is to suffer, in the hopes of his death effecting a change in the present face of affairs.”
“And who,” inquired I, “are the conspirators?”
“The Jesuits and parliamentarians; these ancient rivals, equally persecuted by the royal government, have determined to make common cause against their mutual foe. The Jesuits flatter themselves that the dauphin inherits the kind feelings entertained by his father for their order, and the parliamentarians justly reckon upon the friendly disposition of the young prince towards the old magistracy. Both parties equally flatter themselves that a fresh reign would bring about their re-establishment, and they are impatient to accelerate so desirable an event: the conspiracy is directed by four Jesuits and the same number of the ex-members of the parliament of Paris. The remainder of the two corporations are not initiated in the secret of the enterprise. I am not able at present to give you the names of the eight conspirators, the person from whom I derive my information not having as yet confided them even to myself, but I trust ere long to obtain such a mark of confidence.”
The female ceased speaking, and I remained in a state of doubt, fear, and alarm, impossible to describe. Still one thing appeared clear to me, that information so mysteriously conveyed was not deserving of belief, unless supported by more corroborating testimony. My unknown friend evidently divined all that was passing in my mind, for she observed,
“I perceive that my recital appears to you improbable; one particular which I will state may perhaps overcome your incredulity. Are you not in the habit, madam, of taking every eveningeau sucréemixed with a large proportion of orange-flower water?”
“I am,” replied I.
“This day,” continued my informant, “you will receive four bottles of orange-flower water contained in a box bearing the usual appearances of having come from the perfumers’, but it is sent by other hands, and the liquor contained in the flasks is mingled with a deadly poison.”
These last words made me tremble. “You must complete your kind offices,” cried I to my visitor, “by bringing me acquainted with the person from whom you have derived your intelligence: that individual must be acquainted with the whole of the plot; and, believe me, I will not be unmindful of either of you.”
“Stay one instant,” replied the lady, without evincing the slightest emotion; “the man who was my informant is assuredly aware of the names of those concerned in the conspiracy, but he has charged me not to state who he is but upon certain conditions; a recommendation I shall most certainly attend to.”
“Be assured,” interrupted I, “that your demands shall be acceded to; you shall yourself fix the price of your entire disclosure of every fact connected with the business.”
“It will not be an exorbitant one,” replied the lady; “merely 600,000 francs, to be equally divided between the friend you desire to know and myself; for this sum, which is not a very large one, you may command the services of both of us. One word more, madam, and I am gone. Observe a strict silence upon all I have told you; or, if you must have a counsellor in such perilous circumstances, confide merely in some tried friend; say the duc d’Aiguillon or the chancellor, or both should you deem it necessary; but have a care how you admit a third to a participation of the affair; you could scarcely select another person without choosing one already corrupted by your enemies. It is said that they are in correspondence with even those persons immediately about the person of the king. Adieu, madam; I will see you at your own apartments the day after to-morrow, when I trust you will have ready 100,000 francs, on account of the 600,000 I have stipulated for.”
So saying, she curtsied and left me, overcome with surprise. A thousand fearful ideas pressed upon my brain, and my heart sickened at the long train of gloomy images which presented themselves. I had had sufficient proofs since my elevation of the deadly hatred borne me by those whom my good fortune had rendered my enemies: yet, hitherto, my strongest apprehensions had never been directed to anything more terrible than being supplanted in the favor of the king, or being confined in my château du Lucienne. The horrible ideas of murder, poison, or assassination by any means, had never presented themselves to me. All at once I recollected the young man in the garden of the Tuileries; his predictions of my future greatness had been accomplished. He had also announced to me fearful vicissitudes, and had threatened to appear to me when these catastrophes were about to occur. Doubtless he would keep his word; now was the time for so doing, and I timidly glanced around as I caught the sound of a slight rustle among the branches, fully expecting to see my young prophet; but the figure which met my eye was that of madame de Mirepoix, who, tired of waiting, had come to rejoin me.
“What!” said she, “are you alone? I did not observe your visitor leave you. Did she vanish into air?”
“Very possibly,” answered I.
“So then,” replied the maréchale, “she proved a fairy, or some beneficentgénie, after all?”
“If she were a spirit,” said I, “it certainly was not to the better sort she belonged.”
“Have a care,” cried the maréchale; “I have already formed a thousand conjectures as to what this woman has been telling.”
“And all your suppositions,” replied I, “would fall short of the reality. Listen, my dear maréchale,” added I, rising, and taking her arm to proceed homewards, “I have been strictly prohibited from admitting any counsellor but the duc d’Aiguillon and the chancellor; still I can have no reserves with you, who I know, f rom the regard you bear both to the king and myself, will advise me to the best of your power.”
As we walked towards the château, I explained to my companion the joint conspiracy of the Jesuits and ancient members of the parliament against the king’s life and my own. When I had ceased speaking, she replied,
“All this is very possible; despair may conduct the Jesuits and parliamentarians to the greatest extremities; but still this mysterious female may be nothing more than an impostor. At any rate, I am anxious to learn whether the box she described has been left at your house; if so, it will be a strong corroboration, if not, a convincing proof of the falsehood of what she asserts.”
We had by this time reached the bottom of the staircase which conducted to my apartments; we ascended the stairs rapidly, and the first person I met in the anteroom was Henriette.
“Henriette,” said I, “has any thing been brought for me during my absence?”
“Nothing except a box of orange-flower water from Michel the perfumer’s, which I presume you ordered, madam.”
A glance of mutual surprise and consternation passed between the maréchale and myself. We entered my chamber, where madame de Mirepoix opened the fatal box; it contained the four bottles exactly as had been described. We regarded each other in profound silence, not daring to communicate our reflections. However, it was requisite to take some steps, and, catching up a pen, I hastily wrote the following billet to the duc d’Aiguillon,
“MONSIEUR LE DUC,—Whatever may be the affairs with which you are at present occupied, I pray of you to throw them aside, and hasten to me instantly upon receipt of this. Nothing can equal in importance the subject upon which I wish to see you; I cannot now explain myself fully, but prepare for news of the most horrible description, and it refers to the safety and preservation of the most valuable life in the kingdom. I cannot delay time by writing more; I can only beseech of you not to lose one moment in obeying this summons. Adieu; fail not to come and bring me back this note.”
The duke hastened to me full of terror and alarm.
“Your letter has really frightened me,” said he; “what can be the matter? Surely the life of his majesty is not in danger?”
“Too truly is it,” answered I; “but sit down, and you shall know all the affair. The maréchale is already aware of the matter and need not withdraw.”
The duke listened with extreme attention to the recital of my interview in the grove surrounding the Baths of Apollo, as well as to the account of the discourse I had held there with the strange female. I endeavoured to relate the conversation as minutely and accurately as possible, but still the duke sought further particulars. He inquired the style of countenance, dress, manner, and tone of voice possessed by theincognita. One might have supposed, by the closeness of his questions, that he already fancied he had identified this mysterious personage: he then examined the box, which stood on the table, and remarked, “This is a very serious affair, nor can I undertake the management of it alone; it involves a too great responsibility. Spite of the lady’s assertions, I am confident the fullest confidence might be placed in all the ministers. However, I will first have a conference with M. de Saint-Florentin and the chancellor, in whose presence I will send for the lieutenant of police; and the contents of these bottles shall be immediately analyzed.”
The duke, without quitting me, wrote immediately to his two colleagues as well as to M. de Sartines, requesting this latter to repair to my apartment without delay. One of the ministers summoned by M. d’Aiguillon was not at that moment at Versailles, having left at an early hour in the morning for Paris. Neither he nor M. de Sartines could possibly be with us before eight o’clock in the evening; it was therefore agreed to adjourn our conference till their arrival. Meanwhile M. d’Aiguillon, the maréchale, and myself, remained in a state of the most cruel anxiety. The duke first blamed me for not having caused the woman to be arrested, and afterwards he confessed to the maréchale, that perhaps it was better the conspiracy should be allowed time to ripen into maturity. Daring this time the liquid contained in the four bottles was being decomposed: M. Quesnay, first physician, Messrs. Thiebault and Varennes, visiting physicians, M. de la Martinière, counsellor of state, surgeon to his majesty, as well as Messrs. Ducor and Prost, apothecaries to his majesty, had been collected together for this purpose by the duc d’Aiguillon.
These gentlemen came to report the termination of their experiments at the very moment when the chancellor and lieutenant of police entered the room; the duc de la Vrillière had preceded them by about five minutes; the duc d’Aiguillon requested these gentlemen to be seated. The doctors Quesnay and la Martinière were introduced, and desired to make known the result of their operations. My newly-arrived guests, who as yet understood nothing of what was going on, were struck with astonishment at hearing it said, that the four bottles of orange-flower water contained a considerable proportion of a most active poison, of which a few drops would be sufficient to cause instantaneous death. Having thus executed their commission, the medical gentlemen bowed and retired.
M. d’Aiguillon then explained to my wondering friends the horrible affair which had occasioned their being sent for so hastily. I cannot tell you what effect this disclosure produced on M. de la Vrillière or M. de Maupeou, my whole attention being fixed upon M. de Sartines. You may suppose that a lieutenant of police, particularly one who piqued himself upon knowing every thing, could not feel very much at his ease, when each word that was uttered convicted him either of incapacity or negligence. His brow became contracted, he hemmed, choked, fidgeted about, and appeared as though he would have given every thing in the world f or liberty to justify himself, but etiquette forbade it, and he was only permitted to speak after the secretaries of state then present, or if called upon by either of them.
When M. d’Aiguillon had ceased speaking, the chancellor in his turn took up the conversation. M. de Maupeou was by nature cold and sarcastic, delighting in annoying any person; but, on the present occasion, the ill-nature inherent in him was still excited by the decided hatred he bore to the unfortunate M. de Sartines. He began by saying, that the conspiracy was evident, and was easily explained by the state of exasperation in which the Jesuits and parliamentarians now were; both orders looking for no other prospect of amendment in their condition than such as might arise from some sudden convulsion of the kingdom. He expressed his opinion of the necessity of instituting a rigorous inquiry into the conduct of these two bodies; and then, turning to M. de Sartines, whose cheek grew pale at the movement, he charged him to lay before the council all those particulars which he must necessarily possess as head of the police, either respecting the present plot, or relating to any of the ancient members of parliament or the order of Jesuits.
This was a dagger to the heart of M. de Sartines, who in vain sought to frame a suitable reply: but what could he say? He did not in reality possess any of the information for which he had received credit, and after many awkward endeavours at explaining himself, he was compelled frankly to confess, that he knew not a word more of the conspiracy than he had just then heard.
It was now the turn of M. de la Vrillière to speak. He also would fain have attacked the unfortunate lieutenant of police; but, whether M. de Maupeou thought that his own correction had been sufficiently strong, or whether he begrudged any other person interfering with his vengeance upon his personal foe, he abruptly interrupted the tirade of M. de la Vrillière, by observing, that a conspiracy conducted by only eight persons might very possibly escape the eye of the police; but, furnished as it now was with so many circumstances and particulars, it was impossible that the plot should any longer defy their vigilant researches.
M. d’Aiguillon fully concurred in this observation, and M. de Sartines, recovered in some measure from his first alarm, promised every thing they could desire; and it was finally arranged that the police should this night use every precautionary measure in Paris, and that the officers of the guard should receive orders to redouble their zeal and activity in watching the château; and that when the unknown female called again on me, she should be conducted by madame de Mirepoix to the duc d’Aiguillon, who would interrogate her closely.
These measures decided on, the council broke up, and I went to receive the king, who was this evening to do me the favour of taking his supper in my apartments.
Conclusion of this affair—A letter from the incognita—Herexamination—Arrest of Cabert the Swiss—He dies in theBastille of poison—Madame Lorimer is arrested and poisoned—The innocence of the Jesuits acknowledged—Madame deMirepoix and the 100,000 francs—Forgetfulness on the partof the lieutenant of police—A visit from comte Jean—Madamede Mirepoix
M. de Sartines did not sleep on his post, but his researches were fruitless; and, on the following day, three successive messengers came to announce to us that they had as yet made no discovery. The day passed without bringing any fresh intelligence, and our anxiety increased daily. At length arrived the period fixed for the visit of theincognita. I awaited the coming of this female with an impatience impossible to describe. About mid-day a note was brought me; I instantly recognized the writing as that of my mysterious friend, and hastily breaking the seal, read as follows:
“MADAM,—I must entreat your pardon for breaking the appointment for to-day, imperative duties still detain me in Paris.
“Since our last interview I have been unceasingly occupied in endeavouring to discover the names of the eight persons of whom I spoke to you, and, I am sorry to say, I have but partially succeeded. The person who has hitherto furnished me with my information obstinately refuses to state who are the parliamentarians concerned in the conspiracy. I am, however, enabled to forward you the names of the four Jesuits, with some few particulars relating to these worthy fathers.
“The Jesuits in question are Messrs. Corbin, Berthier, Cerulti, and Dumas; the first of whom was employed in the education of the dauphin, the second and the third are sufficiently known; as for the fourth, he is a bold and enterprising Parisian, capable of conceiving and executing the most daring schemes. Whilst the order remained in possession of power he had no opportunity of displaying his extraordinary talents, and consequently he obtained but a trifling reputation; but since its banishment he has become its firmest support and principal hope. All the treasures of the brotherhood are at his disposal, and I learn, that the day before yesterday he received a considerable sum from Lyons.
“This intrepid and daring spirit is the very soul of the conspiracy; he it is who conceived the plan and set the whole machine in action. It would be effectually extinguished could we but once secure him, but this is by no means an easy task; he has no fixed abode; never sleeps two nights following in the same home; one day he may be found in one part of Paris and the next at the very opposite corner; he changes his manner of dress as frequently as he does his abode.
“I shall have the honour of seeing you to-morrow or the day after at furthest. Meanwhile lay aside all uneasiness for his majesty’s safety: I pledge you my word he is for the present in perfect security. The execution of the plot is still deferred for the want of a Damiens sufficiently sanguinary to undertake the task.
“Deign, madam, to accept the assurance of my sincere devotion, and believe that I will neglect no opportunity of affording you proofs of it.
“Yours, madam, etc., etc.”
I immediately communicated this letter to the duc d’Aiguillon, who convoked a fresh meeting of the persons who had been present on the preceding day. It was at first deliberated whether or not to arrest the whole body of Jesuits then in Paris, but this, although the advice of M. d’Aiguillon, was by no means approved of by the chancellor. M. de Sartines and M. de la Vrillière were for carrying the idea into execution, but the objections of M. de Maupeou were too powerful to be overruled, and the scheme was for the present abandoned. The chancellor maintained that the other conspirators, warned of their own, danger by the seizure of their friends, would either escape the vengeance of the laws by flight or by close confinement in their houses; he greatly dreaded as it was, that his foes, the parliamentarians, would avoid the punishment he longed to inflict on them. Indeed, in his estimation, it seemed as though every measure would be anticipated so long as the female, who seemed so intimately acquainted with their design, was at liberty; and this last opinion was unanimously concurred in.
All the delays greatly irritated me, and rendered my impatience to witness the termination of the affair greater than it had ever been. The stranger had promised to make her appearance on the following day; it passed away, however, without my hearing anything of her. On the day following she came; I immediately sent to apprize M. d’Aiguillon, who, with M. de la Vrillière and the chancellor, entered my apartments ere the lady had had time to commence the subject upon which she was there to speak. This unexpected appearance did not seem to disconcert her in the least, nor did hersang-froidand ordinary assurance in any degree fail her. She reproached me for having intrusted the secret to so many persons, but her reproof was uttered without bitterness, and merely as if she feared lest my indiscretion might compromise our safety. She was overwhelmed with questions, and the chancellor interrogated her with the keenest curiosity; but to all the inquiries put to her she replied with a readiness and candour which surprised the whole party. She was desired to give the names of those engaged in the conspiracy, as well as of him who first informed her of it. She answered that her own name was Lorimer, that she was a widow living upon her own property. As for the man, her informant, he was a Swiss, named Cabert, of about thirty years of age, and had long been her intimate friend: however, the embarrassed tone with which she pronounced these last words left room for the suspicion, that he had been something dearer to her than a friend. She was then urged to give up the names of the four parliamentarians, but she protested that she had not yet been able to prevail on Cabert to confide them to her, that she was compelled to use the utmost circumspection in her attempts at discovering the facts already disclosed, but flattered herself she should yet succeed in gaining a full and unreserved disclosure. M. de Maupeou encouraged her, by every possible argument, to neglect no means of arriving at so important a discovery.
The examination over, and the 100,000 francs she had demanded given to her, she retired, but followed at a distance by a number of spies, who were commissioned to watch her slightest movement.
Cabert, the Swiss, was arrested in a furnished lodging he occupied in rue Saint Roch, and sent without delay to Versailles, where, as before, M. d’Aiguillon with his two colleagues waited in my study to receive and question the prisoner. Cabert was a young and handsome man, whose countenance bore evident marks of a dissolute and profligate life. He confessed, without any difficulty, that his only means of gaining a livelihood were derived from the generosity of a female friend, but when he was pressed upon the subject of the conspiracy, he no longer replied with the same candour, but merely answered in short and impatient negatives the many questions put to him, accompanied with fervent protestations of innocence; adding, that implacable enemies had fabricated the whole story, only that they might have an opportunity of wreaking their vengeance, by implicating him in it.
“Accuse not your enemies,” cried I, for the first time mingling in the conversation, “but rather blame your benefactress; it is madame Lorimer who has denounced you, and far from intending to harm you by so doing, she purposes dividing with you the 100,000 livres which are to reward her disclosures.”
I easily found, by the frowning looks directed towards me by the three gentlemen present, that I had been guilty of great imprudence in saying so much; but Cabert, wringing his hands, uttered, with the most despairing accent,
“I am lost! and most horribly has the unfortunate woman avenged herself.”
“What would you insinuate?”
“That I am the victim of an enraged woman,” replied he.
He afterwards explained, that he had been the lover of madame Lorimer, but had become wearied of her, and left her in consequence; that she had violently resented this conduct; and, after having in vain sought to move him by prayers and supplications, had tried the most horrible threats and menaces. “I ought not indeed,” continued he, “to have despised these threats, for well I knew the fiendlike malice of the wretched creature, and dearly do I pay for my imprudence, by falling into the pit she has dug for me.”
In vain we endeavoured to induce him to hold a different language. He persisted with determined obstinacy in his first statement; continually protesting his own innocence, and loading the author of his woes with bitter imprecations. It was deemed impossible to allow this man to go at large; accordingly M. de la Vrillière issued alettre de cachet, which sent him that night to seek a lodging in the Bastille. It was afterwards deemed advisable to put him to the torture, but the agonies of the rack wrung from him no deviation from, or contradiction of, what he had previously alleged.
The affair had now become mysterious and inexplicable. However, a speedy termination was most imperatively called for; if it were permitted to become generally known, it could not fail of reaching the ears of the king, whose health was daily declining; and M. de Quesnay had assured us, that in his present languid state, the shock produced by news so alarming, might cause his instantaneous death.
Whilst we remained in uncertainty as to our mode of proceeding in the business, Cabert, the Swiss, three days after his admission into the Bastille, expired in the most violent convulsions. His body was opened, but no trace of poison could be discovered: our suspicions were however awakened, and what followed confirmed them.
Madame Lorimer was arrested. She protested that she had been actuated by no feelings of enmity against her unfortunate lover, whom she had certainly reproached for having expended the money she furnished him with in the society of other females, and to the anger which arose between herself and Cabert on the occasion could she alone ascribe his infamous calumnies respecting her; that, for her own part, she had never ceased to love him, and, as far as she knew, that feeling was reciprocal; and, in betraying the conspiracy, her principal desire, next to the anxious hope of preserving the king, was to make the fortune of Cabert. She was confined in the Bastille, but she did not long remain within its walls; for at the end of a fortnight she died of an inflammatory disease. Her death was marked by no convulsions, but the traces of poison were evident.
These two violent deaths occurring so immediately one after another (as not the slightest doubt existed that Cabert had likewise died of poison) threw the ministers into a sad state of perplexity. But to whom could they impute the double crime unless to some accomplice, who dreaded what the unhappy prisoners might be tempted to reveal. Yet the conduct of the Jesuitical priests stated by madame Lorimer to be the principal ring-leaders in the plot, although exposed to the most rigorous scrutiny, offered not the slightest grounds for suspicion. Neither did their letters (which were all intercepted at the various post-houses) give any indication of a treasonable correspondence.
M. de Sartines caused the private papers of the suspected parties to be opened during their owners’ absence, without discovering anything which could compromise their character. I am speaking, however, of the fathers Corbin, Berthier, and Cerulti, for all our efforts could not trace father Dumas throughout all Paris. Nor was the innocence of the parliamentarians less evident; they vented their hatred against the ministry, and particularly against M. de Maupeou, in pamphlets, couplets, and epigrams, both in French and Latin, but they had no idea of conspiracies or plots.
And thus terminated an affair, which had caused so much alarm, and which continued for a considerable period to engage the attention of ministers. How was the mystery to be cleared up? The poisoned orange-flower water, and the sudden deaths of the two prisoners, were facts difficult to reconcile with the no less undeniable innocence of the three accused Jesuits. The whole business was to me an incomprehensible mass of confusion, in which incidents the most horrible were mingled. At last we agreed that the best and only thing to be done was to consign the affair to oblivion; but there were circumstances which did not so easily depart from the recollection of my excellent friend, the maréchale de Mirepoix. “My dear soul,” said she to me one day, “have you ever inquired what became of the 100,000 livres given to madame Lorimer? she had no time to employ them in any way before her imprisonment in the Bastille. You ought to inquire into what hands they have fallen.”
I fully comprehended the drift of this question, which I put to M. de Sartines the first time I saw him.
“Bless me,” exclaimed he, “you remind me that these 100,000 livres have been lying in a drawer in my office. But I have such a terrible memory.”
“Happily,” replied I, “I have a friend whose memory is as good as yours seems defective upon such occasions. It will not be wise to permit such a sum to remain uselessly in your office: at the same time I need not point out that you, by your conduct in the late affair, have by no means earned a right to them.”
He attempted to justify himself; but, interrupting him, I exclaimed, “My good friend, you have set up a reputation of your own creating and inventing; and well it is you took the office upon yourself for no one else would have done it for you; but you perceive how frail have been its foundations; for the moment you are compelled to stand upon your own resources you faint, and are easily overcome.”
He endeavoured to make a joke of the affair, but indeed it seemed to accord as ill with his natural inclination as did the restitution of the 100,000 livres. However, he brought them to me the following day, and as I was expecting the arrival of madame de Mirepoix, I placed them in a porcelain vase which stood upon my chimney-piece. Unfortunately for the maréchale, comte Jean presented himself before she did. He came to inform me, that my husband (of whose quitting Toulouse I had forgotten to tell you) had again arrived in Paris. I did not disguise the vexation which this piece of intelligence excited in me.
“And wherefore has comte Guillaume returned to Paris?” inquired I, angrily.
“Because he is afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” replied I.
“Of being murdered,” answered comte Jean: “it is a most horrible and authentic story. Imagine to yourself the dangers of his situation: some brigands, who have a design on his life, have written him an anonymous billet, in which they protest they will certainly murder him, unless he deposits 50,000 livres in a certain place. You may suppose his terror; money he had none, neither was his credit sufficiently good to enable him to borrow any. As a last and only chance, he threw himself into a carriage, and hastened, tremblingly, to implore your assistance.”
“And I am quite certain you will not withhold yours from him,” answered I
“You are perfectly right,” cried he, “but unfortunately just now I have not a single crown I can call my own; so that it rests with you alone, my dearest sister, to save the life of this hapless comte du Barry.”
“I am extremely distressed, my dear brother-in-law,” replied I, “that I am just as poor, and as unable to afford the necessary aid as yourself; my purse is quite empty.”
“Faith, my dear sister-in-law, I am not surprised at that if you convert a china vase into a receptacle for your bank notes.”
Saying this, he drew a bundle of notes from the hiding-place in which I had deposited them. “Do you know,” continued comte Jean, “I really think we shall find money enough here.” He began to count them: and when he had finished he said, “My dear sister, neither your husband nor myself wish to importune you, or put you to any inconvenience, therefore you shall merely oblige him with the loan of these 50,000 livres to extricate him from his present peril; they shall be faithfully and quickly restored to you, and a note of hand given you for that purpose if you desire it.” So saying, he divided the money into two parts, replaced one in the vase, and pocketed the other.
I was very indignant at the cool impudence with which this was done, and my patience had well nigh forsaken me: however, I restrained myself; and I was happy enough that I could so far conquer myself. My reproaches would not have induced comte Jean to give me back my money, and would only have roused his violence; which, when once excited, found vent in language so vehement and energetic, that I did not desire to hear any more of it than I could help. At these moments he selected not the politest expressions, but those which were the strongest: and besides, such was the ungovernable nature of comte Jean’s temper, that once roused, he would have treated the king himself with as little consideration as he did me. Still, he never deliberately insulted me, nor did he compose those insulting verses respecting me, which were printed as his, in “Les Anecdotes sur Madame du Barry.” This would have been an indignity I would quickly have caused him to repent having offered.
“Well,” inquired I, “are you very glad to see your brother in Paris?”
“No, ‘pon my soul!” returned he; “but since he is here, we must do the best we can with him; he was very anxious to see his sister-in-law and niece. He says the former is ugly as sin, and the latter almost as handsome as you.”
“Very gallant,” replied I; “but tell me, comte Jean, does this elegant compliment proceed from my husband or yourself?”
We were just then interrupted by the arrival of the maréchale, and comte Jean retired.
“Well, my dear,” she began, “have you seen M. de Sartines, and did you speak to him respecting those 100,000 livres?”
“Oh, yes,” replied I, “he gave them back to me; but I have already had half of them stolen from me.”
“By comte Jean, I’ll engage,” cried she. “Upon my word, that man is a perfect spendthrift, a prodigal; who, if you do not take great care, will certainly ruin you. And what will you do with the remaining 50,000 livres, my dear friend; where will you place them?”
“In your hands, my dear maréchale; ‘tis his majesty’s command.”
“To that command,” answered she, “I must perforce submit”; and, taking the bundle of notes, she continued, “Assure his majesty that it will ever be my greatest pride and pleasure to obey his slightest wish. My respect for his orders can only be equalled by my tender friendship for her who is the bearer of the royal mandate.” Then, deliberately putting the money in her pocket, she exclaimed, “You must own that comte Jean is a great rogue.”
My alarms—Anéléveof thePare-aux-Cerfs—Comte Jeanendeavours to direct the king’s ideas—A supper at Trianon—Table talk—The king is seized with illness—Hisconversation with me—The joiner’s daughter and thesmall-pox—My despair—Conduct of La Martinière the surgeon
I had occasionally some unaccountable whims and caprices. Among other follies I took it into my head to become jealous of the duchesse de Cossé, under the idea that the duke would return to her, and that I should no longer possess his affections. Now the cause of this extravagant conduct was the firmness with which madame de Cossé refused all overtures to visit me, and I had really become so spoiled and petted, that I could not be brought to understand the reasonableness of the duchesse de Cossé refusing to sanction her rival by her presence.
You may perceive that I had not carried my heroic projects with regard to madame de Cossé into execution. Upon these occasions, the person most to be pitied was the duke, whom I made answerable for the dignified and virtuous conduct of his wife. My injustice drove him nearly to despair, and he used every kind and sensible argument to convince me of my error, as though it had been possible for one so headstrong and misguided as myself to listen to or comprehend the language of reason. I replied to his tender and beseeching epistles by every cutting and mortifying remark; in a word, all common sense appeared to have forsaken me. Our quarrel was strongly suspected by part of the court; but the extreme prudence and forbearance of M. de Cossé prevented their suppositions from ever obtaining any confirmation. But this was not the only subject I had for annoyance. On the one hand, my emissaries informed me that the king still continued to visit the baroness de New—-k, although with every appearance of caution and mystery, by the assistance and connivance of the duc de Duras, who had given me his solemn promise never again to meddle with the affair. Thegouvernanteof theParc-aux-Cerfsfurnished me likewise with a long account of the many visits paid by his majesty to her establishment. The fact was, the king could not be satisfied without a continual variety, and his passion, which ultimately destroyed him, appeared to have come on only as he advanced in years.
All these things created in my mind an extreme agitation and an alarm, and, improbable as the thing appeared even to myself, there were moments when I trembled lest I should be supplanted either by the baroness or some fresh object of the king’s caprice; and again a cold dread stole over me as I anticipated the probability of the health of Louis XV falling a sacrifice to the irregularity of his life. It was well known throughout the château, that La Martinière, the king’s surgeon, had strongly recommended a very temperate course of life, as essentially necessary to recruit his constitution, wasted by so many excesses, and had even gone so far as to recommend his no longer having a mistress; this the courtiers construed into a prohibition against his possessing a friend of any other sex than his own; for my own part, I experienced very slight apprehensions of being dismissed, for I well knew that Louis XV reckoned too much on my society to permit my leaving the court, and if one, the more tender, part of our union were dissolved, etiquette could no longer object to my presence. Still the advice of La Martinière was far from giving me a reason for congratulation, but these minor grievances were soon to be swallowed up in one fatal catastrophe, by which the honours, and pleasures of Versailles were for ever torn from me.
Themadameof theParc-aux-Cerfs, fearing that some of the subordinate members of that establishment might bring me intimation of what was going on there without her cognizance, came one day to apprize me that his majesty had fallen desperately in love with a young orphan of high birth, whom chance had conducted within the walls of her harem; that to an extraordinary share of beauty, Julie (for that was the name of my rival) united the most insatiate ambition; her aims were directed to reducing the king into a state of the most absolute bondage, “and he,” said madame, “bids fair to become all that the designing girl would have him.”
Julie feigned the most violent love for her royal admirer, nay she did not hesitate to carry her language and caresses far beyond the strict rules of decency; her manners were those of one accustomed to the most polished society, whilst her expressions were peculiarly adapted to please one who, like the king, had a peculiar relish for every thing that was indecent or incorrect. His majesty either visited her daily or sent for her to the château. I heard likewise from M. d’Aiguillon, that the king had recently given orders that the three uncles and two brothers of Julie should be raised by rapid promotion to the highest military rank; at the same time the grand almoner informed me he had received his majesty’s express command to appoint a cousin of the young lady to the first vacant bishopric.
These various reports threw me into a train of painful and uneasy reflections. Louis XV. had never before bestowed such marks of favour upon anyélèveof theParc-aux-Cerfs, and the intrigue had attained this height with the most inconceivable rapidity. Chamilly interrupted my meditations, by presenting himself with an account of his having been commissioned by his majesty to cause a most splendid suit of diamonds to be prepared for mademoiselle Julie, the king not considering any jewels of Paris worthy her acceptance. By way of a finish to all this, I learned that two ladies, one of whom was a duchess, had openly boasted at Versailles of their relationship to Julie. This was a more decided corroborative than all the rest. Courtiers of either sex are skilful judges of the shiftings of the wind of court favour, and I deemed it high time to summon my brother-in-law to my assistance, as well as to urge him to exert his utmost energies to support my tottering power.
My communication tormented comte Jean as much as it did me; he proposed several means of combating this rising inclination on the part of Louis XV. I assented to whatever he suggested, and we set to work with an eagerness, increased on my part by a species of gloomy presentiment, which subsequent events but too fatally confirmed. The maréchale de Mirepoix, who, from being on good terms with every person, was sure to be aware of all that was going on, spoke to me also of this rival who was springing up in obscurity and retirement; and it was from the same source I learned what I have told you of the two ladies of the court. She advised me not to abandon myself to a blind confidence, and this opinion was strengthened when I related all I had gathered upon the subject.
“You may justly apprehend,” said she, “that Julie will instil some of her bold and fearless nature into the king, and should she presume to put herself in competition with you, victory would in all probability incline to the side of the last comer”; and I felt but too truly that the maréchale spoke with truth.
A few days after this, the king being alone with me, comte Jean entered. After the usual salutations, he exclaimed, “I have just seen a most lovely creature.”
“Who is she?” inquired his majesty, hastily.
“No high-born dame,” answered comte Jean, “but the daughter of a cabinet-maker at Versailles; I think I never beheld such matchless beauty.”
“Always excepting present company,” replied the king.
“Assuredly,” rejoined my brother-in-law, “but, sire, the beauteous object of whom I speak is a nymph in grace, a sylph in airy lightness, and an angel in feature.”
“Comte Jean seems deeply smitten indeed, madam,” exclaimed Louis XV, turning towards me.
“Not I indeed,” replied my brother-in-law, “my lovemaking days are over.”
“Oh! oh!” cried the king, smiling, “fructus belli.”
“What does your majesty say?” inquired I.
“Nay, let the comte explain,” cried Louis XV.
“The king observed, my dear sister,” answered comte Jean, “that ladies—but, in fact, I can neither explain the observation, nor was it intended for you—so let it rest.”
He continued for some time to jest with comte Jean upon his supposed passion for the fair daughter of the cabinet-maker; and the king, whilst affecting the utmost indifference, took every pains to obtain the fullest particulars as to where this peerless beauty might be found.
When my brother-in-law and myself were alone, he said to me, “I played my part famously, did I not? How eagerly the bait was swallowed!”
“Explain yourself,” said I.
“My good sister, what I have said respecting this perfection of loveliness is no fiction, neither have I at all exaggerated either her perfections or her beauty, and I trust by her aid we shall obliterate from the king’s mind every recollection of the syren of theParc-aux-Cerfs.”
“Heaven grant it,” exclaimed I.
“My dear sister,” replied comte Jean, “heaven has nothing to do with such things.”
Alas! he was mistaken, and Providence only employed the present occasion as a means of causing us to be precipitated into the very abyss of ruin we had dug for others. On the following morning, Chamilly came to me to inquire whether it was my pleasure that the present scheme should be carried into execution.
“Yes, yes,” answered I eagerly, “by all means, the more we direct the inclinations of the king for the present, the better for him and for us likewise.”
Armed with my consent, Chamilly dispatched to the unhappy girl thatmadame, whose skill in such delicate commissions had never been known to fail. Not that in the present instance any great bribes were requisite, but it was necessary to employ some agent whose specious reasoning and oily tongue should have power to vanquish the virtuous reluctance of the victim herself, as well as to obtain a promise of strict silence from her family. They were soon induced to listen to their artful temptress; and the daughter, dazzled by the glittering prospect held out to her, was induced to accompanymadameback to Trianon, where the king was to sup, in company with the ducs d’Aiguillon and de Richelieu, the prince de Soubise, the ducs de Cossé, de Duras, and de Noailles, mesdames de Mirepoix, de Forcalquier, de Flaracourt, and myself; my brother-in-law and Chon were also of the party, although not among the number of those who sat down to supper. Their presence was merely to keep up my spirits, and with a view to divert me from dwelling on the presumed infidelity of the king.
We had promised ourselves a most delightful evening, and had all come with the expectation of finding considerable amusement in watching the countenances and conduct of those who were not aware of the real state of the game, whilst such as were admitted into my entire confidence, were sanguine in their hopes and expectations of employing the simple beauty of the maiden of Versailles to crush the aspiring views of my haughty rival of theParc-aux-Cerfs. This was, indeed, the point at which I aimed, and my further intention was to request the king to portion off mademoiselle Julie, so that she might be ever removed from again crossing my path.
Meanwhile, by way of passing the tedious hours, I went to satisfy my curiosity respecting those charms of which comte Jean had spoken so highly. I found the object of so many conjectures possessed of an uncommon share of beauty, set off, on the present occasion, by every aid that a splendid and elaborate toilette could impart; her features were perfect, her form tall and symmetrical, her hair was in the richest style of luxuriance; but by way of drawback to so many advantages, both her hands and feet were large and coarse. I had expected to have found her timid, yet exulting, but she seemed languid and dejected even to indisposition. I attributed the lassitude and heaviness which hung over her to some natural regrets for sacrificing some youthful passion at the shrine of ambition; but I was far from guessing the truth. Had I but suspected the real cause! but I contented myself with a silent scrutiny (I should have questioned her on the subject), but passed on to the saloon, where the guests were already assembled. The evening passed away most delightfully; the maréchale de Mirepoix excelled herself in keeping up a continual flow of lively conversation. Never had messieurs de Cossé and de Richelieu appeared to equal advantage. The king laughed heartily at the many humorous tales told, and his gaiety was the more excited, from his believing that I was in utter ignorance of his infidelity. The champagne was passed freely round the table, till all was one burst of hilarious mirth. A thousand different topics were started, and dismissed only to give way to fresh subjects more piquant than the preceding.
The king, in a fit of good humour, began to relate his adventures with madame de Grammont; but here you must pardon me, my friend, for so entirely did his majesty give the reins to his inclination for a plain style of language, that, although excess of prudery formed no part of the character of any of the ladies assembled, we were compelled to sit with our eyes fixed upon our plate or glass, not daring to meet the glance of those near us. I have little doubt but that Louis XV indulged himself to this extent by a kind of mental vow to settle the affair with his confessor at the earliest opportunity.
We were still at table when the clock struck two hours past midnight.
“Bless me! so late?” inquired the king.
“Indeed, sire,” replied the maréchale de Mirepoix, “your agreeable society drives all recollection of time away.”
“Then ‘tis but fit I should furnish you all with memory enough to recollect what is necessary for your own health. Come, my friends, morning will soon call us to our different cares, so away to your pillows.”
So saying, the king bade us a friendly farewell, and retired with the ducs de Duras and de Noailles. We remained after his majesty, and retiring into the great saloon, threw ourselves without any ceremony upon the different couches and ottomans.
“For my own part,” said the prince de Soubise, “I shall not think of separating from so agreeable a party till daylight warns me hence.”
“The first beams of morn will soon shine through these windows,” replied M. d’Aiguillon.
“We can already perceive the brightest rays of Aurora reflected in the sparkling eyes around us,” exclaimed M. de Cossé.
“A truce with your gallantry, gentlemen,” replied madame de Mirepoix, “at my age I can only believe myself capable of reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.”
“Hush!” interrupted madame de Forcalquier, “you forget we are at Versailles, where age is never thought of, but where, like our gracious sovereign, all are young.”
“Come, ladies,” said madame de Flaracourt, “let us retire; I for one, plead guilty of being in need of repose.”
“No, no!” replied the duc de Richelieu, “let us employ the remaining hours in pleasing and social converse,” and with a tremulous voice he began that charming trio in “Selina and Azor,” “Veillons mes soeurs.” We joined chorus with him, and the echoes of the palace of Louis XV resounded with the mirthful strain. This burst of noisy mirth did not last long, and we relapsed into increased taciturnity, spite of our endeavours to keep up a general conversation. We were all fatigued, though none but madame de Flaracourt would confess the fact. Tired nature called loudly for repose, and we were each compelled to seek it in the different apartments assigned us. The duc d’Aiguillon alone was compelled, by the duties of his office, to return to Versailles.
Upon entering my chamber I found my brother-in-law there, in the most violent fit of ill humour, that the king (who was in fact ignorant of his being at Trianon) had not invited him to supper. As I have before told you, comte Jean was no favourite with his majesty, and as I had displayed no wish for his company, Louis XV had gladly profited by my indifference to omit him upon the present occasion. I endeavoured to justify the king, without succeeding, however, in appeasing comte Jean, who very unceremoniously consigned us all to the care and company of a certain old gentleman, whose territory is supposed to lie beneath “the round globe which we inhabit.”
“I have to thank you,” replied I, “for a very flattering mode of saying ‘good night.’”
“Perhaps,” answered comte Jean roughly, “you would prefer—”
“Nothing from your lips if you please, my polite brother,” cried I, interrupting him, “nothing you will say in your present humour can be at all to my taste.”
Chon interfered between us, and effected a reconciliation, which I was the more willing to listen to, that I might enjoy that sleep my weary eye-lids craved for. Scarcely was my head on my pillow, than I fell into a profound sleep: could I but have anticipated to what I should awake! It was eleven o’clock on the following morning when an immense noise of some person entering my chamber, aroused me from the sweet slumbers I was still buried in. Vexed at the disturbance, I inquired, in a peevish tone, “Who is there?”
“Tis I, my sister,” replied Chon, “M. de Chamilly is here, anxious to speak with you upon a matter of great importance.”
Chamilly, who was close behind mademoiselle du Barry, begged to be admitted.
“What is the matter, Chamilly?” cried I, “and what do you want? Is mademoiselle Julie to set off into the country immediately?”
“Alas! madam,” replied Chamilly, “his majesty is extremely ill.”
These words completely roused me, and raising myself on my arm, I eagerly repeated, “Ill! of what does he complain?”
“Of general and universal pain and suffering,” replied Chamilly.
“And the female who was here last night, how is she?”
“Nearly as bad, madam; she arose this morning complaining of illness and languor, which increased so rapidly, that she was compelled to be carried to one of the nearest beds, where she now is.”
All this tormented me to the greatest degree, and I dismissed Chamilly for the purpose of rising, although I had no distinct idea of what it would be most desirable to say or do. My sister-in-law, with more self-possession, suggested the propriety of summoning Bordeu, my physician; a proposal which I at once concurred in, more especially when she informed me, that La Martinière was already sent for, and hourly expected.
“I trust,” said I, “that Bouvart knows nothing of this, for I neither approve of him as a man or a doctor.”
The fact was, I should have trembled for my own power, had both Bouvart and La Martinière got the king into their hands. With La Martinière I knew very well I was no favourite; yet it was impossible to prevent his attendance; the king would never have fancied a prescription in which he did not concur.
Meanwhile I proceeded with my toilette as rapidly as possible, that I might, by visiting the king, satisfy myself of the nature of his malady. Ere I had finished dressing, my brother-in-law, who had likewise been aroused by the mention of his majesty’s illness, entered my chamber with a gloomy look; he already saw the greatness of the danger which threatened us, he had entirely forgotten our quarrel of the preceding evening, but his temper was by no means improved by the present state of things. We had no need of explaining ourselves by words, and he continued walking up and down the room with, his arms folded and his eyes fixed on the floor, till we were joined by the maréchale de Mirepoix and the comtesse de Forcalquier. Madame de Flaracourt had taken her departure at an early hour, either ignorant of what had occurred or with the intention of being prepared for whatever might happen.
As yet, it was but little in the power of any person to predict the coming blow. “The king is ill,” said each of us as we met. “The king is ill,” was the morning salutation of the ducs de Richelieu, de Noailles, de Duras, and de Cossé. The prince de Soubise had followed the example of madame de Flaracourt, and had quitted Trianon; it seemed as though the hour for defection were already arrived. A summons now arrived from his majesty who wished to see me. I lost not a moment in repairing to his apartment, where I found him in bed, apparently in much pain and uneasiness. He received me tenderly, took my hands in his, and kissed them; then exclaimed,
“I feel more indisposed than I can describe, a weight seems pressing on my chest, and universal languor appears to chain my faculties both of body and mind. I should like to see La Martinière.”
“And would you not likewise wish to have the advice of Bordeu?”
“‘Yes,” said he, “let both come, they are both clever men, and I have full confidence in their skill. But do you imagine that my present illness will be of a serious nature?”
“By no means, sire,” returned I, “merely temporary, I trust and believe.”
“Perhaps I took more wine than agreed with me last evening; but where is the maréchale?”
“In my chamber with madame de Forcalquier.”
“And the prince de Soubise?”
“He has taken flight,” replied I, laughing.
“I suppose so,” returned Louis XV, “he could not bear a long absence from Paris; company he must have.”
“In that respect he resembles you, sire, for you generally consider company as a necessary good.”
He smiled, and then closing his eyes remained for some minutes silent and motionless, after a while he said,
“My head is very heavy, so farewell, my sweet friend, I will endeavour to get some sleep.”
“Sleep, sire!” said I, “and may it prove as healthful and refreshing as I pray it may.”
So saying, I glided out of the room and returned to my friends, I found madame de Mirepoix and the duc de Cossé waiting for me in the anteroom.
“How is the king?” inquired they both in a breath.
“Better than I expected,” I replied, “but he is desirous of sleeping.”
“So much the worse,” observed the duc de Cossé; “I should have thought better of his case had he been more wakeful.”
“Are you aware of the most imperative step for you to take?” inquired the maréchale de Mirepoix.
“No,” said I, “what is it?”
“To keep his majesty at Trianon,” replied she; “it will be far better for you that the present illness should take its course at Trianon rather than at Versailles.”
“I second that advice,” cried the duc de Richelieu, who just then entered the room; “yes, yes, as madame de Mirepoix wisely observes, this is the place for the king to be ill in.”
“But,” exclaimed I, “must we not be guided by the physicians’ advice?”
“Do you make sure of Bordeu,” said the duke, “and I will speak to La Martinière.”
M. de Cossé took me aside, and assured me that I might rely upon him in life or death. When we had conversed together for some minutes, I besought of him to leave the place as early as possible; “Take madame de Forcalquier with you,” said I, “your presence just now at Trianon would be too much commented upon.”
He made some difficulties in obeying me, but I insisted and he went. After his departure, the duc de Richelieu, the maréchale and myself walked together in the garden. Our walk was so directed that we could see through the colonnade every person who arrived up the avenue. We spoke but little, and an indescribable feeling of solemnity was mingled with the few words which passed, when, all at once, our attention was attracted by the sight of comte Jean, who rushed towards me in a state of frenzy.
“Accursed day,” cried he, stopping when he saw us, “that wretched girl from Versailles has brought the small-pox with her.”
At this fatal news I heaved a deep sigh and fainted. I was carried under the portico, while the poor maréchale, scarcely more in her senses than myself, stood over me weeping like a child, while every endeavour was being made to restore me to life. Bordeu, who chanced to be at Versailles, arrived, and supposing it was on my account he had been summoned, hastened to my assistance. The duc de Richelieu and comte Jean informed him of all that had passed, upon which he requested to see the unfortunate female immediately; while he was conducted thither, I remained alone with the maréchale and Henriette, who had come to Trianon with my suite. My first impulse upon regaining the use of my senses, was to throw myself in the arms of the maréchale.
“What will become of me?” exclaimed I, weeping, “if the king should take this fatal malady, he will never survive it.”
“Let us hope for the best,” answered madame de Mirepoix; “it would be encouraging grief to believe a misfortune, which we have at present no reason to suspect.”
Comte Jean now rejoined us, accompanied by Bordeu and the duc de Richelieu; their countenances were gloomy and dejected. The miserable victim of ambition had the symptoms of the most malignant sort of small-pox; this was a finishing stroke to my previous alarms. However, comte Jean whispered in my ear, “Bordeu will arrange that the king shall remain here.”
This assurance restored me to something like composure; but these hopes were speedily dissipated by the arrival of La Martinière.
“What is the matter?” inquired he, “is the king very ill?”
“That remains for you to decide”; replied the duc de Richelieu; “but however it may be, madame du Barry entreats of you not to think of removing the king to Versailles.”
“And why so?” asked La Martinière, with his accustomed abruptness. “His majesty would be much better there than here.”
“He can nowhere be better than at Trianon, monsieur,” said I.
“That, madam,” answered La Martinière, “is the only point upon which you must excuse my consulting you, unless, indeed, you are armed with a physician’s diploma.”
“Monsieur la Martinière,” cried the duc de Richelieu, “you might employ more gentle language when speaking to a lady.”
“Was I sent for hither,” inquired the angry physician, “to go through a course of politeness?”
For my own part I felt the utmost dread, I scarcely knew of what. Bordeu, seeing my consternation, hastened to interfere, by saying,
“At any rate, monsieur la Martinière, you will not alarm the king needlessly.”
“Nor lull him into a false security,” answered the determined La Martinière. “But what is his malady have you seen him, doctor Bordeu?”
“Not yet.”
“Then why do we linger here? Your servant, ladies and gentlemen.”
The medical men then departed, accompanied the duc de Richelieu.