Perhaps certain characteristics which milor the Marquis of Eglinton had inherited from his English grandfather caused him to assume a more elaborate costume for hispetit leverthan the rigid court etiquette of the time had prescribed.
According to every mandate of usage and fashion, when, at exactly half-past ten o'clock, he had asked M. Achille so peremptorily for his shoes and then sat on the edge of his bed, with legs dangling over its sides, he should have been attired in a flowered dressing gown over a lace-ruffledchemise de nuit, and a high-peakedbonnet-de-cotonwith the regulation tassel should have taken the place of the still absent perruque.
Then all the distinguished gentlemen who stood nearest to him would have known what to do. They had all attendedpetits leversof kings, courtisanes, and Ministers, ever since their rank and dignities entitled them so to do. Mme. la Comtesse de Stainville, for instance, would have stepped aside at this precise juncture with a deep curtsey and mayhap a giggle or a smirk—since she was privileged to be frivolous—whereupon M. Achille would with the proper decorum due to so solemn a function have handed M. le Contrôleur's day shirt to the visitor of highest rank there present, who was privileged to pass it over milor's head.
That important formality accomplished, the great man's toilet could be completed byM. le valet-de-chambrehimself. But who had ever heard of a Minister'spetit-leverbeing brought to a close without the ceremony of his being helped on with his shirt by a prince of the blood, or at least a marshal of France?
However,le petit Anglaishad apparently some funny notions of his own—heirlooms, no doubt, from that fog-ridden land beyond the seas, the home of his ancestors—and vainly had Monsieur Achille, that paragon among flunkeys, tried to persuade his Marquis not to set the hitherto inviolate etiquette of the Court of France quite so flagrantly at defiance.
All his efforts had been in vain.
Monsieur d'Argenson, who was present on this 13th of August, 1746, tells us that when milor did call for his shoes at least ten minutes too soon, and was thereupon tenderly reproached by Madame la Comtesse de Stainville for this ungallant haste, he was already more than half dressed.
True, the floweredrobe-de-chambrewas there—and vastly becoming, too, with its braided motifs and downy lining of a contrasting hue—but when milor threw off the coverlet with a boyish gesture of impatience, he appeared clad in a daintily frilled day-shirt, breeches of fine faced cloth, whilst a pair of white silk stockings covered his well-shaped calves.
True, the perruque was still absent, but so was the regulation cotton night-cap; instead of these, milor, with that eccentricity peculiar to the entire British race, wore his own hair slightly powdered and tied at the nape of the neck with a wide black silk bow.
Monsieur Achille looked extremely perturbed, and, had his rigorous features ventured to show any expression at all, they would undoubtedly have displayed one of respectful apology to all the high-born gentlemen who witnessed this unedifying spectacle. As it was, the face ofMonsieur le valet-de-chambrewas set in marble-like rigidity; perhaps only the slightest suspicion of a sigh escaped his lips as he noted milor's complete unconsciousness of the enormity of his offense.
Monsieur le Contrôleur had been in the very midst of an animated argument with Madame de Stainville anent the respective merits of rose red and turquoise blue as a foil to a mellow complexion. This argument he had broken off abruptly by calling for his shoes. No wonder Irène pouted, her pout being singularly becoming.
"Had I been fortunate enough in pleasing your lordship with my poor wit," she said, "you had not been in so great a hurry to rid yourself of my company."
"Nay, madame, permit me to explain," he protested gently. "I pray you try and remember that for the last half-hour I have been the happy yet feeble target for the shafts aimed at me by your beauty and your wit. Now I always feel singularly helpless without my waistcoat and my shoes. I feel like a miserable combatant who, when brought face to face with a powerful enemy, hath been prevented from arming himself for the fray."
"But etiquette——" she protested.
"Etiquette is a jade, madame," he retorted; "shall not you and I turn our backs on her?"
In the meantime M. Achille had, with becoming reverence, taken M. le Contrôleur's coat and waistcoat in hisaugust hands, and stood there holding them with just that awed expression of countenance which a village curé would wear when handling a reliquary.
With that same disregard for ceremony which had characterized him all along, Lord Eglinton rescued his waistcoat from those insistent hands, and, heedless of Achille's look of horror, he slipped it on and buttoned it himself with quick, dexterous fingers, as if he had never done anything else in all his life.
For a moment Achille was speechless. For the first time perhaps in the history of France a Minister of Finance had put his waistcoat on himself, and this under his—Achille's—administration. The very foundations of his belief were tottering before his eyes; desperately now he clung to the coat, ready to fight for its possession and shed his blood if need be for the upkeep of the ancient traditions of the land.
"Will milor take his coat from the hands of Monseigneur le Prince de Courtenai—prince of the blood?" he asked, with a final supreme effort for the reëstablishment of those traditions, which were being so wantonly flouted.
"His Majesty will be here directly," interposed Irène hastily.
"His Majesty never comes later than half-past ten," protested milor feebly, "and he has not the vaguest idea how to help a man on with his coat. He has had no experience and I feel that mine would become a heap of crumpled misery if his gracious hands were to insinuate it over my unworthy shoulders."
He made a desperate effort to gain possession of his coat,but this time M. Achille was obdurate. It seemed as if he would not yield that coat to any one save at the cost of his own life.
"Then it is the privilege of Monseigneur le Prince de Courtenai," he said firmly.
"But M. de Courtenai has gone to flirt with my wife!" ejaculated Lord Eglinton in despair.
"In that case no doubt M. le Duc de Luxembourg will claim the right——"
"Mais comment donc?" said the Duke with great alacrity, as, in spite of milor's still continued feeble protests, he took the coat from the hands of M. Achille.
M. de Luxembourg was very pompous and very slow, and there was nothing that Lord Eglinton hated worse than what he called amateur valeting. But now there was nothing for it but forbearance and resignation; patience, too, of whichle petit Anglaishad no more than a just share. He gathered the frills of his shirt sleeves in his hands and tried not to look as if he wished M. de Luxembourg at the bottom of the nearest pond; but at this very moment Monseigneur le Prince de Courtenai, who, it appeared, had not gone to flirt with Madame la Marquise, since the latter was very much engaged elsewhere, but had merely been absorbed in political discussions with M. de Vermandois, suddenly realized that one of his numerous privileges was being encroached upon.
Not that he had any special desire to help M. le Contrôleur-Général on with his coat, but because he was ever anxious that his proper precedence as quasi prince of the blood should always be fully recognized. So he gave a discreet cough just sufficiently loud to attract M. Achille's notice, and towarn M. le Duc de Luxembourg that he was being presumptuous.
Without another word the coat was transferred from the hands of the Maréchal to those of the quasi-royal Prince, whilst Eglinton, wearing an air of resigned martyrdom, still waited for his coat, the frills of his shirt sleeves gripped tightly in his hands.
Monseigneur advanced. His movements were always sedate, and he felt pleased that every one who stood close by had noticed that the rank and precedence, which were rightfully his, had been duly accorded him, even in so small a matter, by no less a personage than M. le Contrôleur-Général des Finances.
He now held the coat in perfect position, and Lord Eglinton gave a sigh of relief, when suddenly the great doors at the end of the long room were thrown wide open, and the stentorian voices of the royal flunkeys announced:
"Messieurs, Mesdames! His Majesty the King!"
The buzz of talk died down, giving place to respectful murmurs. There was a great rustle of silks and brocades, a clink of dress swords against the parquet floor, as the crowd parted to make way for Louis XV. The various groups of political disputants broke up, as if scattered by a fairy wand; soon all the butterflies that had hovered in the further corners of the room fluttered toward the magic centre.
Here an avenue seemed suddenly to form itself of silken gowns, of brocaded panniers, of gaily embroidered coats, topped by rows of powdered perruques that bent very low to the ground as, fat, smiling, pompous, and not a little bored, His Majesty King Louis XV made slow progress along the full length of the room, leaning lightly on the arm of the inevitable Marquise de Pompadour, and nodding with great condescension to the perruqued heads as he passed.
Near the window embrasure he met la Marquise d'Eglinton and M. le Duc d'Aumont, her father. To Lydie he extended a gracious hand, and engaged her in conversation with a few trivial words. This gave Mme. de Pompadour the opportunity of darting a quick glance, that implied an anxious query, at the Duc d'Aumont, to which he responded with an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
All the while M. le Contrôleur-Général des Finances was still standing, shirt frills in hand, his face a picture of resigned despair, his eyes longingly fixed on his own coat, which Monseigneur de Courtenai no longer held up for him.
Indeed, Monseigneur, a rigid stickler for etiquette himself, would never so far have forgotten what was due to the house of Bourbon as to indulge in any pursuit—such as helping a Minister on with his coat—at the moment when His Majesty entered a room.
He bowed with the rest of them, and thus Louis XV at the end of his progress, found the group around milor's bedside; his cousin de Courtenai bowing, Monsieur Achille with his nose almost touching his knees, and milor Eglinton in shirt sleeves looking supremely uncomfortable, and not a little sheepish.
"Ah! ce cher milor!" said the King with charming bonhomie, as he took the situation in at a glance. "Nay, cousin, I claim an ancient privilege! Monsieur le Contrôleur-Général, have you ever been waited on by a King of France?"
"Never to my knowledge, Sire," stammeredle petit Anglais.
Louis XV was quite delightful to-day; so fresh and boyish in his movements, and with an inimitablelaisser allerand friendliness in his manner which caused many pairs of eyes to stare, and many hearts to ponder.
"Let this be an epoch-making experience in your life, then," he said gaily. "Is this your coat?"
And without more ado he took that much-travelled garment from Monseigneur de Courtenai's hands.
Such condescension, such easy graciousness had not been witnessed for years! And His Majesty was not overfond of that State-appointed Ministry of Finance of which milor was the nominal head.
"His Majesty must be sorely in need of money!" was a whispered comment which ran freely enough round the room.
Withal the King himself seemed quite unconscious of the wave of interest to which his gracious behaviour was giving rise. He was holding up the coat, smiling benevolently at M. le Contrôleur, who appeared to be more than usually nervous, and now made no movement toward that much-desired portion of his attire.
"Allons, milor, I am waiting," said King Louis at last.
"Er—that is," murmured Lord Eglinton pitiably, "could I have my coat right side out?"
"Ohé! par ma foi!" quoth the King with easy familiarity, "your pardon, milor, but 'tis seldom I hold such an article in my hands, and I believe, by all the saints in the calendar, that I was holding it upside down, wrong side out, sleeves foremost, and collar awry!"
He laughed till his fat sides ached, and tears streamed from his eyes; then, amidst discreet murmurs of admiration at so much condescension, such gracious good humour, the ceremony of putting on M. le Contrôleur's coat was at last performed by the King of France, and milor, now fully clothed and apparently much relieved in his mind, was able to present his respects to Madame de Pompadour.
Apparently there was to be no end to royal graciousness this morning, as every one who looked could see. Hardly was the coat on M. le Contrôleur's shoulders than the King engaged him in conversation, whilst Mme. de Pompadour dropped into the armchair lately vacated by Monseigneur de Courtenai. The well-drilled circle of courtiers and ladies, including la belle Irène herself, retired discreetly. Once more there was a barrier of emptiness and parquet flooring round the inner group, now composed of His Majesty, of M. le Contrôleur-Général, and of Mme. de Pompadour. Into these sacred precincts no one would have dared to step. Lydie, having paid her respects to His Majesty, had not joined that intimate circle, and it seemed as if Louis XV had noted her absence, and was duly relieved thereat.
Anon M. le Duc d'Aumont approached the King, offering him a chair. Louis took it, and in the act of so doing he contrived to whisper four quick words in his Prime Minister's ear.
"Eh bien! Your daughter?"
Lord Eglinton just then was busy trying to find a suitable place whereon to deposit his own insignificant person, and blushing violently because Mme. de Pompadour had laughingly waved her fan in the direction of his monumental bed; M. le Duc, therefore, whilst adjusting a cushion behind the King's back, was able to reply hurriedly:
"Impossible, Sire!"
"And l'Anglais?"
"I have not yet tried."
"Ah! ah! ah!" laughed Pompadour merrily. "M. le Contrôleur-Général des Finances, are all Englishmen as modest as you?"
"I—I don't know, Madame. I don't know very many," he replied.
"Here is M. le Contrôleur too bashful to sit on the edge of his own bed in my presence," she continued, still laughing. "Nay, milor, I'll wager that you were reclining on those downy cushions when you were flirting with Mme. de Stainville."
"Only under the compulsion of my valet-de-chambre, Madame," he protested, "or I'd have got up hours ago."
"Is he such a tyrant, then?" asked Louis.
"Terrible, your Majesty."
"You are afraid of him?"
"I tremble at his look."
"Ah! it is well M. le Contrôleur-Général des Finances should tremble sometimes, even if only before his valet-de-chambre," sighed Louis XV with comic pathos.
"But, Sire, I tremble very often!" protested Lord Eglinton.
"I' faith he speaks truly," laughed Mme. de Pompadour, "since he trembles before his wife."
"And we tremble before M. le Contrôleur," concluded the King gaily.
"Before me, Sire?"
"Aye, indeed, since our Parliaments have made you our dragon."
"A good-tempered, meek sort of dragon, Sire, you'll graciously admit."
"That we will, milor, and gladly!" said Louis XV, now with somewhat too exuberant good-humour; "and you'll not have cause to regret that meekness, for your King hath remained your friend."
Then, as Lord Eglinton seemed either too much overcome by the amazing condescension, or too bashful to respond, his Majesty continued more sedately:
"We are about to prove our friendship, milor."
"Your Majesty—finds me—er—quite unprepared—er——" stammered milor, who in verity appeared distinctly confused, for his eyes roamed round the room as if in search of help or support in this interesting crisis.
"Nay! nay!" rejoined the King benignly, "this we understand, milor. It is not often the King of France chooses a friend amongst his subjects. For we look upon you as our subject now, M. le Contrôleur, since we have accepted your oath of allegiance. You have only just enough English blood left in your veins to make you doubly loyal and true to your King. Nay! nay! no thanks—we speak as our royal heart moves us. Just now we spoke of proofs of our friendship. Milor, tell us frankly, are you so very rich?"
The question came so abruptly at the end of the sentimental peroration that Lord Eglinton was completely thrown off his balance. He was not used to private and intimate conversations with King Louis; his wife saw to all affairs of State, and the present emergency found him unprepared.
"I—I believe so, Sire," he stammered.
"But surely notsorich," insisted the King, "that a million or so livres would come amiss? Hé!"?
"I don't rightly know, Sire; it a little depends."
"On what?"
"On the provenance of the million."
"More than one, good milor—two, mayhap," said the King exultantly.
Then he drew his chair in somewhat closer. Lord Eglinton had taken Mme. de Pompadour's advice and was sitting on the edge of the bed. We may presume that that edge was very hard and uncomfortable, for milor fidgeted and looked supremely unhappy. Anon the King's knees were close to his own, and Madame's brocaded skirt got entangled with his feet. The buzz of talk in the large room drowned the King's whispers effectually, the wide barrier of empty floor was an effectual check on eavesdropping. Obviously no one would hear what Louis was about to confide to his Minister; he leaned forward and dropped his voice so that Eglinton himself could scarcely hear, and had to bend his head so that he got Louis's hot, excited breath full on the cheek. Being General Comptroller of Finance and receiving the confidences of a King had its drawbacks at times.
"Milor," whispered his Majesty, "'tis a good affair we would propose, one which we could carry through without your help, but in which we would wish to initiate you, seeing that you are our friend."
"I listen, Sire."
"The Duke of Cumberland—you know him?"
"Yes."
"He has quelled the rebellion and humbled the standard of that arrogant Stuart Pretender."
"Your Majesty's friend—yes," said Eglinton innocently.
"Bah! our friend!" and Louis XV shrugged his shoulders, whilst Mme. de Pompadour gave a short contemptuous laugh.
"Oh! I am sorry! I thought——" said milor gently. "I pray your Majesty to continue."
"Charles Edward Stuart was no friend to us, milor," resumed Louis decisively: "observe, I pray you, the trouble which he hath brought about our ears. We had had peace with England ere now, but for that accursed adventurer and his pretensions; and now that he has come to disaster and ruin——"
"I understand," said Eglinton, with a little sigh of sympathy. "It is indeed awkward for your Majesty; the solemn promise you gave him——"
"Bah, man! prate not to me of promises," interrupted Louis irritably. "I promised him nothing; he knows that well enough—the young fool!"
"Do not let us think of him, Sire; it seems to upset your Majesty."
"It does, milor, it does; for even my worst enemies concede that Louis the Well-beloved is a creature of sympathy."
"A heart of gold, Sire—a heart of gold—er—shall we join the ladies?"
"Milor," said the King abruptly, putting a firm hand on Eglinton's wrist, "we must not allow that young fool to thwart the external politics of France any longer. The Duke of Cumberland, though our own enemy on the field of battle, has shown that England trusts in our honour andloyalty even in the midst of war, but she wants a proof from us."
"Oh, let us give it, Sire, by all means. Prince Charles Edward Stuart——"
"Exactly, milor," said Louis XV quietly; "that is the proof which England wants."
"I am afraid I don't quite understand," said Lord Eglinton, a little bewildered. "You see, I am very stupid; and—and perhaps my wife——"
Then, as King Louis gave a sharp ejaculation of impatience, Mme. de Pompadour broke in, in tones which she knew how to render velvety and soothing to the ear, whilst her delicate fingers rested lightly on M. le Contrôleur's hand.
"It is quite simple, milor," she whispered just as confidentially as the King had done. "This Charles Edward Stuart is a perpetual worry to England. His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland has been accused of unnecessary cruelty because he has been forced to take severe measures for the suppression of that spirit of rebellion, which is only being fostered in Scotland because of that young Pretender's perpetual presence there. He fans smouldering revolt into flame, he incites passions, and creates misguided enthusiasms which lead to endless trouble to all!"
Then as she paused, somewhat breathless and eager, her bright myosotis-coloured eyes anxiously scanning his face he said mildly:
"How beautifully you put things, Mme. la Marquise. I vow I have never heard such a perfect flood of eloquence."
"'Tis not a matter of Madame's eloquence," interposed Louis, with impatience, "though she hath grasped the subject with marvellous clearness of judgment."
"Then 'tis a matter of what, Sire?"
"The Duke of Cumberland has appealed to our loyalty. Though we are at war with England we bear no animus toward her reigning house, and have no wish to see King George's crown snatched from him by that beardless young adventurer, who has no more right to the throne of England than you, milor, to that of France."
"And his Grace of Cumberland has asked his Majesty's help," added Mme. de Pompadour.
"How strange! Just as Prince Charles Edward himself hath done."
"The Duke of Cumberland desires the person of the Pretender," she said, without heeding the interruption, "so that he may no longer incite misguided enthusiasts to rebellion, and cease to plunge Scotland and England into the throes of civil war."
"His Grace asks but little, methinks!" said Lord Eglinton slowly.
"Oh, England is always ready to pay for what she wants," said the Marquise.
"And on this occasion?" asked milor mildly.
"His Grace hath offered us, as man to man, fifteen millions livres for the person of the Pretender," said the King, with sudden decision, and looking M. le Contrôleur straight in the face.
"Ah! as man to man?"
Louis XV and Mme. la Marquise de Pompadour both drew a quick sigh of relief. M. le Contrôleur had taken the proposal with perfect quietude. He had not seemed startled, and his kindly face expressed nothing but gentle amazement, very natural under the circumstances, whilsthis voice—even and placid as usual—was not above a whisper.
"As man to man," he repeated, and nodded his head several times, as if pondering over the meaning of this phrase.
How extremely fortunate! Milor had raised no objection! What a pity to have wasted quite so much thought, anxiety, and a wealth of eloquence over a matter which was so easily disposed of! Jeanne de Pompadour gave her royal patron an encouraging nod.
There was a world of wisdom in that nod and in the look which accompanied it. "He takes it so easily," that look seemed to say; "he thinks it quite natural. We must have his help, since we do not know where the fugitive Prince is in hiding. This little milor alone can tell us that, and give us a token by which Charles Edward would trustingly fall into the little ambush which we have prepared for him. But he thinks the affair quite simple. We need not offer him quite so large a share in the pleasant millions as we originally had intended."
All this and more Mme. de Pompadour's nod conveyed to the mind of Louis the Well-beloved, and he too nodded in response before he continued, speaking now more casually, in a calmer, more business-like tone.
"'Tis a fair offer," he said at last; "though the affair will not be quite so easy to conduct as his Grace supposes. He suggests our sending a ship to the coast of Scotland to meet the young adventurer and his friends, take them on board and convey them to an English port, where they will be handed over to the proper authorities. 'Tis fairly simple, methinks."
"Remarkably simple, your Majesty."
"Of course, we need a little help from you, milor. Oh, nothing much—advice as to the spot where our good ship will be most like to find Charles Edward Stuart—a token which if shown to that young firebrand will induce him to trust its bearer, and come on board himself with at least some of his friends. You follow me, milor?"
The question seemed necessary, for Lord Eglinton's face wore such a look of indifference as to astonish even the King, who had been prepared for some measure of protest, at any rate from this man who was being asked to betray his friend. Although Louis was at this period of his life quite deaf to every call of honour and loyalty through that constant, ever-present and exasperating want of money for the satisfaction of his extravagant caprices, nevertheless, there was Bourbon blood in him, and this cried out loudly now, that he was suggesting—nay, more, contemplating—a deed which would have put any of his subjects to shame, and which would have caused some of his most unscrupulous ancestors in mediæval times to writhe with humiliation in their graves. Therefore he had expected loud protest from Lord Eglinton, arguments more or less easy to combat, indignation of course; but this ready acceptance of this ignoble bargain—so strange is human nature!—for the moment quite horrified Louis. Milor took the selling of his friend as calmly as he would that of a horse.
"You follow me, milor?" reiterated the King.
"Yes, yes, Sire," replied Eglinton readily enough. "I follow you."
"You understand the service we ask of you?"
"Yes, yes, I understand."
"For these services, milor, you shall be amply rewarded.We would deem one million livres a fair amount to fall to your share."
"Your Majesty is generous," said Eglinton quite passively.
"We are just, milor," said the King, with a sigh of satisfaction.
M. le Contrôleur seemed satisfied, and there was little else to say. Louis XV began to regret that he had offered him quite so much. Apparently five hundred thousand would have been enough.
"Then we'll call that settled," concluded his Majesty, pushing back his chair preparatory to ending this conversation, which he had so dreaded and which had turned out so highly satisfactory. Pity about that million livres, of course! five hundred thousand might have done, certainly seven! Nathless, M. le Contrôleur's private fortune was not so large as popular rumour had it, or did Mme. Lydie actually hold the purse strings?
"C'est entendu, milor," repeated Louis once more. "We will see to commissioning the ship and to her secret orders. As you see, there is no risk—and we shall be glad to be in the good graces of M. le Duc de Cumberland. To oblige an enemy, eh, milor? an act of peace and good-will in the midst of war. Chivalry, what?—worthy of our ancestor Henri of Navarre! Methinks it will make history."
"I think so, too, Sire," said Eglinton, with obvious conviction.
"Ah! then we'll see to the completion of the affair; we—the King and M. le Duc d'Aumont. You are lucky, milor, your share of the work is so simple; as soon as the ship is ready to sail we'll call on you for the necessary instructions. Par ma foi! 'tis a fine business for us all, milor; one millionin your pocket for a word and a token, the residue of the fifteen millions in our royal coffers, and the thanks of his Grace of Cumberland to boot, not to mention the moral satisfaction of having helped to quell an unpleasant rebellion, and of placing one's enemy under lasting obligation. All for the good of France!"
Louis the Well-beloved had risen; he was more than contented; an unctuous smile, a beaming graciousness of expression pervaded his entire countenance. He groped in the wide pocket of his coat, bringing forth a letter which bore a large red seal.
"His Grace's letter, milor," he said with final supreme condescension, and holding the document out to M. le Contrôleur, who took it without a word. "Do you glance through it, and see that we have not been mistaken, that the whole thing is clear, straightforward and——"
"And a damned, accursed, dirty piece of business, Sire!"
It was undoubtedly Lord Eglinton who had spoken, for his right hand, as if in response to his thoughts, was even now crushing the paper which it held, whilst the left was raised preparatory to tearing the infamous proposal to pieces. Yes, it had been milor's even, gentle voice which had uttered this sudden decisive condemnation in the same impassive tones, and still scarce audible even to these two people near him, without passion, without tremor, seemingly without emotion. Just a statement of an undisputable fact, a personal opinion in answer to a question put to him.
Louis, completely thrown off his balance, stared at milor as if he had been suddenly shaken out of a dream; for the moment he thought that his ears must have played him a trick, that he must have misunderstood the words so calmlyuttered; instinctively his hand sought the support of the chair which he had just vacated. It seemed as if he needed a solid, a materialistic prop, else his body would have reeled as his brain was doing now. Mme. de Pompadour, too, had jumped to her feet, pushing her chair away with an angry, impatient movement. The disappointment was so keen and sudden, coming just at the moment when triumph seemed so complete. But whilst Louis stared somewhat blankly, at M. le Contrôleur, she, the woman, flashed rage, contempt, vengeance upon him.
He had tricked and fooled her, her as well as the King, leading them on to believe that he approved, the better to laugh at them both in his sleeve.
The contemptible, arrogant wretch!
He was still half sitting, half leaning against the edge of his bed, and staring straight out before him through the big bay window which gave on to the park, passively, gently, as if the matter had ceased to concern him, as if he were quite unconscious of the enormity of his action.
"A—a damned—what?—accursed!—what?——" stammered the King; "but, milor——"
"Nay, Sire, I pray you!" broke in a grave voice suddenly; "my lord seems to have angered your Majesty. Will you deign to explain?"
The buzz of talk was going on as loudly and incessantly as before. The whispered conversation around M. le Contrôleur's bedside had excited no violent curiosity. The first surprise occasioned by His Majesty's unparalleled condescension soon gave way to indifference; it was obvious that the King's assiduity beside the Minister of Finance was solely due to a more than normal desire for money, and these royal demands for renewed funds were too numerous to cause more than passing interest.
Eavesdropping was impossible without gross disrespect, the latter far more unpardonable than the most insatiable curiosity. Lydie alone, privileged above all, had apparently not heeded the barrier which isolated Louis XV, Pompadour and milor from the rest of the vast apartment, for she now stood at the foot of the bed—a graceful, imposing figure dressed in somewhat conventual gray, with one hand resting on the delicate panelling, her grave, luminous eyes fixed on the King's face.
Louis shook himself free from the stupor in which milor's unexpected words had plunged him. Surprise yielded now to vexation. Lydie's appearance, her interference in this matter, would be the final death-blow to his hopes. Those tantalizing millions had dangled close before his eyes, his royal hands had almost grasped them, his ears heard theirdelicious clink; milor's original attitude had brought them seemingly within his grasp. Now everything was changed. The whole affair would have to be argued out again at full length, and thoughle petit Anglaismight prove amenable, Mme. Lydie was sure to be obdurate.
Louis XV scowled at the picture of youth and beauty presented by that elegant figure in dove-gray silk, with the proud head carried high, the unconscious look of power and of strength in the large gray eyes, so grave and so fixed. In his mind there had already flashed the thought that milor's sudden change of attitude—for it was a change, of that his Majesty had no doubt—was due to a subtle sense of fear which had made him conscious of his wife's presence, although from her position and his own he could not possibly have seen her approach.
This made him still more vexed with Lydie, and as she seemed calmly to be waiting for an explanation, he replied quite gruffly:
"Nay, madame, you mistake; I assure you milor and ourselves are perfectly at one—we were so until a few moments ago."
"Until I came," she said quietly. "I am glad of that, for 'twill be easy enough, I hope, to convince your Majesty that my presence can have made no difference to M. le Contrôleur's attitude of deep respect."
"Pardi, we hope not!" interposed Mme. de Pompadour acidly; "but we hope milor hath found his tongue at last and will do the convincing himself."
But Louis XV was not prepared to reopen the discussion in the presence of Mme. Lydie. He knew, quite as well as M. le Duc d'Aumont himself, that she would havenothing but contempt and horror for that infamous proposal, which he was more determined than ever to accept.
It was tiresome of course not to have the coöperation of Lord Eglinton; that weak fool now would, no doubt, be overruled by his wife. At the same time—and Louis hugged the thought as it sprang to his mind—there were other ways of obtaining possession of Charles Edward Stuart's person than the direct one which he had proposed to milor just now. The young Pretender was bound sooner or later to leave the shores of Scotland. Unbeknown to King Louis a ship might be sent by private friends to rescue the fugitive, but that ship could be intercepted on her way home, and, after all, Charles Edward was bound to land in France some day!—and then——
And there were other means besides of earning the tempting millions. But these would have to be thought out, planned and arranged; they would be difficult and not nearly so expeditious, which was a drawback when royal coffers were clamouring to be filled. Still, it would be distinctly unadvisable to broach the subject with Mme. la Marquise d'Eglinton, and unnecessarily humiliating, since a rebuff was sure to be the result.
Therefore, when—as if in placid defiance of Pompadour's challenge—Lord Eglinton handed the Duke of Cumberland's letter silently back to the King, the latter slipped it into his pocket with a gesture of ostentatious indifference.
"Nay! we need not trouble Mme. la Marquise with the discussion now," he said; "she is unacquainted with the subject of our present conversation, and it would be tedious to reiterate."
"I crave your pardon, Sire," rejoined Lydie, "if I havetransgressed, but my zeal in the service of France and in that of your Majesty has rendered my senses preternaturally acute. My eyes see in the gloom, my ears hear across vast spaces."
"In a word, Mme. la Marquise has been listening!" said Pompadour, with a sneer.
"I did not listen," said Lydie quietly. "I only heard."
"Then you know?" said Louis, with well-assumed indifference.
"Oh, yes!"
She smiled at him as she replied. This was apparently a day of surprises, for the smile seemed distinctly encouraging.
"And—and what do you say?" asked his Majesty somewhat anxiously, yet emboldened by that encouraging smile.
Of a truth! was he about to find an ally there, where he expected most bitter opposition?
"Meseems that milor was somewhat hasty," replied Lydie quietly.
"Ah!"
It was a sigh of intense, deep, heartfelt, satisfaction breathed by Louis the Well-beloved, and unrestrainedly echoed by Mme. de Pompadour.
"This proposal, Sire," continued Lydie; "'tis from England, I understand?"
"From his Grace of Cumberland himself, Madame," assented the King, once more drawing the letter from out his pocket.
"May I be permitted to see it?" she asked.
For a moment Louis hesitated, then he gave her the letter. There was no risk in this, since she practically owned to knowing its contents.
And the whole affair would be so much easier, so much more expeditious with the coöperation of the Eglintons.
Lydie read the letter through, seemingly deeply engrossed in its contents. She never once raised her eyes to see how she was being watched. She knew quite well that the King's eyes were fixed eagerly upon her face, that Pompadour's cupidity and greed for the proposed millions were plainly writ upon her face. But she had not once looked at her husband. She did not look at him now. He had not spoken since that sudden burst of indignation, when his slender hand crushed the infamous document which she now studied so carefully, crushed it and would have torn it to ribbons in loathing and contempt.
When first she interposed he had turned and faced her. Since then she knew that his eyes had remained fixed on her face. She felt the gaze, yet cared not to return it. He was too weak, too simple to understand, and of her own actions she would be sole mistress; that had been the chief clause in the contract when she placed her hand in his.
Her intuitive knowledge of this Court in which she moved, her suspicions of this feeble monarch, whose extravagant caprices had led him to deeds at which in his earlier days he had been the first to blush, her dread of intrigues and treachery, all had whispered in her ear the word of prudence—"Temporize."
The whole infamous plan had been revealed to her through those same supernaturally keen senses, which her strong domineering nature had coerced, until they became the slaves of her will. Mingling with the crowd, her graceful body present in the chattering throng, her mind had remained fixed on that group beside the bed. She had noticed theKing's expression of face when he engaged milor in conversation, his extraordinarybonhomie, his confidential attitude, his whispers, all backed and seconded by Pompadour. Gradually she manœuvred and, still forming a unit with the rest of the crowd, she had by degrees drawn nearer and nearer, until she saw her husband's movement, his almost imperceptible change of expression, as he clutched the letter which was handed him by the King.
Then she boldly entered the inner precincts; being privileged, she could do even that, without creating attention. Milor's words of contempt, the royal arms of England on the seal of the letter, coupled with her father's attitude with her just now, and his veiled suggestions, told her all she wanted to know. And quick as flashes of summer lightning her woman's intuition whispered words of wisdom in her ear.
"Know everything first—then temporize! Diplomacy will do more than defiance."
Having read the letter through, she of course knew all. It was simple enough—a monstrous proposal which the King of France was ready to adopt. She felt real physical nausea at contact with so much infamy.
But she folded the document neatly and carefully, then looked quietly at the King.
"The Duke of Cumberland is generous," she said, forcing herself to smile.
"Heu, heu!" assented Louis lightly, with a return of his wontedbonhomie. Matters were shaping themselves to a truly satisfactory end.
"Do I understand that your Majesty would desire us to accept his Grace's proposal?"
"What think you yourself, Madame?"
"It is worth considering," she mused.
"Parbleu! And you are a true woman!" exclaimed Louis XV, beaming with delight. "Full of wisdom as a statesman should be. To think that we could ever have mistrusted so clear a head and so sound a judgment."
"Your Majesty, I hope, will always remember that my sole desire is to serve France and her King!"
"Par ma foi! We'll not forget your help in this, Madame," he exclaimed whole-heartedly. "Then we may rely on your help?"
"What does your Majesty desire me to do?"
He came quite close to her, and she forced herself not to draw back one inch. For the sake of the fugitive prince and his friends, who had trusted in the honour of France; for the sake of that honour which, in her peculiar position, was as dear to her as her own, she would not flinch now; she would show no repulsion, no fear, though her whole being rose in revolt at contact with this man.
A man, not a king! Par Dieu, not a King of France!
His face to her looked hideous, the eyes seemed to leer, and there was lust for money, and ignoble treachery writ on every feature.
"We have explained it all to milor," whispered Louis under his breath; "a ship to be commissioned and sent to meet the Stuart. She will have secret orders—no one shall know but her captain—and he will be a man whom we can trust—a man whom we shall have to pay—you understand?"
"I understand."
"Then from you we want to know the place in Scotland where we will find Charles Edward—eh? And also atoken—a ring, a word perhaps, by which that young adventurer will be made to trust his own person and that of his friends to our good ship. It is very simple, you see."
"Quite simple, your Majesty."
"The ship's orders will be that once the Stuart and his faction are on board, she shall make straight for the first English port—and—and—that is all!" he added complacently.
"Yes, that is all, your Majesty."
"And on the day that Charles Edward Stuart is handed over to the English authorities, there will be fifteen millions for your King, Madame, and a million livres pin money for the most able statesman in Europe."
And with consummate gallantry, Louis bowed very low and took her hand in his. It rested cold and inert between his hot fingers, but he was far too eager, far too triumphant to notice anything beyond the fact that he had succeeded in enlisting the help of Lydie d'Eglinton, without whom his project was bound to have been considerably delayed, if not completely frustrated. He had indeed not wasted this glorious morning.
"I am eternally your debtor, Madame!" he said gaily; "and 'tis well, believe me, to serve the King of France."
"I have done nothing as yet, Sire," she rejoined.
"Nay, but you will," he said confidently.
She bowed her head and he interpreted the movement according to his will. But he was impatient, longing to see this matter finally settled to his entire satisfaction.
"Will you not give me a definite answer now?"
"In the midst of so much chatter, Sire?" she said, forcingherself to smile gaily. "Nay, but 'tis a serious matter—and I must consult with my father."
Louis smiled contentedly. M. le Duc d'Aumont was at one with him in this. The letter had been originally sent to the Prime Minister, and the Duke, who was weak, who was a slave to the Bourbon dynasty, and who, alas! was also tainted with that horrible canker which was gradually affecting the whole of the aristocracy of France, the insatiable greed for money, had been bribed to agree with the King.
Therefore Louis was content. It was as well that Lydie should speak with the Duke. The worthy D'Aumont would dissipate her last lingering scruples.
"And your husband?" he added, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at milor, and smiling with good-natured sarcasm.
"Oh, my husband will think as I do," she replied evasively.
At thought of her father and the King's complacent smile, Lydie had winced. For a moment her outward calm threatened to forsake her. She felt as if she could not keep up this hideous comedy any longer. She would have screamed aloud with horror or contempt, aye! and deep sorrow, too, to think that her father wallowed in this mire.
She too cast a quick glance at milor. His eyes were no longer fixed on her face. He stood quietly beside Madame de Pompadour, who, leaving the King to settle with Lydie, had engaged Lord Eglinton in frivolous conversation. He was quite placid again, and in his face, gentle and diffident as usual, there was no longer the faintest trace of that sudden outburst of withering contempt.
The Duke of Cumberland's letter was still in her hand.It seemed to scorch her fingers with its loathsome pollution. But she clung to it, and after a violent effort at self control, she contrived to look Louis straight in the face and to give him a reassuring smile, as she slipped the letter into the bosom of her gown.
"I will consult with my father, Sire," she repeated, "and will read the letter when I am alone and undisturbed."
"And you will give me a final answer?"
"The day after to-morrow."
"Why not sooner?" he urged impatiently.
"The day after to-morrow," she reiterated with a smile. "I have much to think about, and—the only token which Charles Edward would trust without demur must come from Lord Eglinton."
"I understand," said the King knowingly. "Par ma foi! But we shall want patience. Two whole days! In the meanwhile we'll busy ourselves with preparations for the expedition. We had thought ofLe Monarque. What say you?"
"Le Levantinwould be swifter."
"Ah, yes!Le Levantin—and we can trust her captain. He is under deep obligation to Madame de Pompadour. And M. de Lugeac, Madame's nephew, you know—we had thought of him to carry the secret orders to Brest to the captain ofLe Levantindirectly she is ready to sail. Methinks we could trust him. His interests are bound up with ours. And there is another, too; but more of that anon. The secret orders will bear our own royal signature, and you might place them yourself, with the token, in our chosen messenger's hands."
Once more he gave her a gracious nod, and she curtseyed with all the deference, all the formality which the elaborateetiquette of the time demanded. Louis looked at her long and searchingly, but apparently there was nothing in the calm, serene face to disturb his present mood of complacent satisfaction. He put out his podgy hand to her; the short, thick fingers were covered with rings up to their first joint, and Lydie contrived to kiss the large signet—an emblem of that kingship to which she was true and loyal—without letting her lips come in contact with his flesh.
What happened during the next ten minutes she could not afterward have said. Her whole mind was in a turmoil of thought, and every time the infamous letter crackled beneath her corselet, she shuddered as with fear. Quite mechanically she saw the King's departure, and apparently she acted with perfect decorum and correctness. Equally, mechanically she saw the chattering throng gradually disperse. The vast room became more and more empty, the buzz less and less loud. She saw milor as through a mist, mostly with back bent, receiving theadieuxof sycophants; she heard various murmurs in her own ears, mostly requests that she should remember and be ready to give, or at least to promise. She saw the procession of courtiers, of flatterers, of friends and enemies pass slowly before her; in the midst of them she vaguely distinguished Mme. de Stainville's brightly coloured gown.
La belle Irène lingered a long time beside milor. She was one of the last to leave, and though Lydie forced herself not to look in that direction, she could not help hearing the other woman's irritating giggle, and Lord Eglinton's even, pleasant voice framing compliments, that pandered to that brainless doll's insatiable vanity.
And this when he knew that his friend was about to be betrayed.
The taint! The horror! The pollution of it all!
Fortunately she had not seen her father, for her fortitude might have broken down if she read that same awful thought of treachery in his face that had so disgusted her when Louis stood beside her.
The last of that senseless, indifferent crowd had gone. The vast room was empty. Milor had accompanied Mme. de Stainville as far as the door. The murmur of talk and laughter came now only as a faint and lingering echo. Anon it died away in the distant corridors.
Lydie shivered as if with cold.
And now she was alone.
Torpor had left her; even that intensity of loathing had gone, which for the past half-hour had numbed her very senses and caused her to move and speak like an irresponsible automaton. She felt as if she had indeed seen and touched a filthy, evil reptile, but that for the moment it had gone out of her sight. Presently it would creep out of its lair again, but by that time she would be prepared.
She must be prepared; therefore she no longer shuddered at the horror of it, but called her wits to her aid, her cool judgment and habitual quick mode of action, to combat the monster and render it powerless.
She knew of course that the King would not allow himself to be put off with vague promises. Within the two days' delay which she had asked of him he would begin to realize that she had only meant to temporise, and never had any intention of helping him in his nefarious schemes. Then he would begin to act for himself.
Having understood that she meant to circumvent him if she could, he was quite shrewd enough to devise some means of preventing those tempting millions from eluding his grasp. Though he did not know at the present moment where or how to lay his hands on Prince Charles Edwardand his friends, he knew that they would of necessity seek the loneliness of the west coast of Scotland.
Vaguely that particular shore had always been spoken of in connection with any expedition for the succour of the unfortunate prince, and although the commissioning of ships was under the direct administration of the Comptrôlleur-Général of Finance, Louis, with the prospective millions dangling before him, could easily enough equipLe Levantin, and send her on a searching expedition without having recourse to State funds; whilst it was more than likely that Charles Edward, wearied of waiting, and in hourly fear of detection and capture, would be quite ready to trust himself and his friends to any French ship that happened to come on his track, whether her captain brought him a token from his friend or not.
All this and more would occur to King Louis, of course, in the event of her finally refusing him coöperation, or trying to put him off longer than a few days. Just as she had thought it all out, visualized his mind, as it were, so these various plans would present themselves to him sooner of later. It was a great thing to have gained two days. Forty-eight hours' start of that ignoble scheme would, she hoped, enable her to counteract it yet.
So much for King Louis and his probable schemes! Now her own plans.
To circumvent this awful treachery, to forestall it, that of course had become her task, and it should not be so difficult, given that two days' start and some one whom she could trust.
Plans now became a little clearer in her head; they seemed gradually to disentangle themselves from a maze of irrelevant thoughts.
Le Monarquewas ready to start at any moment. Captain Barre, her commander, was the soul of honour. A messenger swift and sure and trustworthy must ride to Le Havre forthwith with orders to the captain to set sail at once, to reach that lonely spot on the west coast of Scotland known only to herself and to her husband, where Charles Edward Stuart and his friends were even now waiting for succour.
The signet-ring—Lord Eglinton's—entrusted to Captain Barre should ensure the fugitives' immediate confidence. There need be no delay, and with favourable wind and weatherLe Monarqueshould have the Prince and his friends on board her beforeLe Levantinhad been got ready to start.
ThenLe Monarqueshould not return home direct; she should skirt the Irish coast and make for Brittany by a circuitous route; a grave delay perhaps, but still the risks of being intercepted must be minimised at all costs.
A lonely village inland would afford shelter to the Young Pretender and his adherents for a while, until arrangements could be made for the final stage of their journey into safety—Austria, Spain, or any country in fact where Louis' treachery could not overtake them.
It was a big comprehensive scheme, of course; one which must be carried to its completion in defiance of King Louis. It was never good to incur the wrath of a Bourbon, and, unless the nation and the parliaments ranged themselves unequivocally on her side, it would probably mean the sudden ending of her own and her husband's career, the finality of all her dreams. But to this she hardly gave a thought.
The project itself was not difficult of execution, provided she had the coöperation of a man whom she could absolutely trust. This was the most important detail in connection with her plans, and it alone could ensure their success.
Her ally, whoever he might be, would have to start this very afternoon for Le Havre, taking with him the orders for Captain Barre and the signet ring which she would give him.
There were one hundred and fifty leagues between Versailles and Le Havre as the crow flies, and Lydie was fully aware of the measure of strength and endurance which a forced ride across country and without drawing rein would entail.
It would mean long gallops at breakneck speed, whilst slowly the summer's day yielded to the embrace of evening, and anon the glowing dusk paled and swooned into the arms of night. It would mean a swift and secret start at the hour when the scorching afternoon sun had not yet lifted its numbing weight from the journeyman's limbs and still lulled the brain of the student to drowsiness and the siesta; the hour when the luxurious idler was just waking from sleep, and the labourer out in the field stretched himself after the noonday rest.
It would mean above all youth and enthusiasm; for Le Havre must be reached ere the rising sun brought the first blush of dawn on cliffs, and crags, and sea;Le Monarquemust set sail for Scotland ere France woke from her sleep.
Twelve hours in the saddle, a good mount, the strength of a young bullock, and the astuteness of a fox!
Lydie still sat in the window embrasure, her eyes closed, her graceful head with its wealth of chestnut hair resting against the delicate coloured cushions of her chair, her perfectly modelled arms bared to the elbow lying listlessly in her lap, one hand holding the infamous letter, written by the Duke of Cumberland to King Louis. She herself a picture of thoughtful repose, statuesque and cool.
It was characteristic of her whole personality that she sat thus quite calmly, thinking out the details of her plan, apparently neither flustered nor excited. The excitement was within, the desire to be up and doing, but she would have despised herself if she had been unable to conquer the outward expressions of her agitation, the longing to walk up and down, to tear up that ignoble letter, or to smash some inoffensive article that happened to be lying by.
Her thoughts then could not have been so clear. She could not have visualized the immediate future; the departure ofLe Monarqueat dawn—Captain Barre receiving the signet-ring—that breakneck ride to Le Havre.
Then gradually from out the rest of the picture one figure detached itself from her mind—her husband.
"Le petit Anglais," the friend of Charles Edward Stuart; weak, luxurious, tactless, but surely loyal.
Lydie half smiled when the thought first took shape. She knew so little of her husband. Just now, when she heard him condemn the King's treacherous proposals with such unequivocal words of contempt, she had half despised him for this blundering want of diplomatic art. Manlike he had been unable to disguise his loathing for Louis' perfidy, and by trying to proclaim his loyalty tohis friend, all but precipitated the catastrophe that would have delivered Charles Edward Stuart into the hands of the English. But for Lydie's timely interference the King, angered and huffed, would have departed then and there and matured his own schemes before anything could be done to foil them.
But with her feeling of good-natured disdain, there had even then mingled a sensation of trust; this she recalled now when her mind went in search of the man in whom she could confide. She would in any case have to ask her husband for the token agreed on between him and the Stuart Prince, and also for final directions as to the exact spot where the fugitives would be most surely found by Captain Barre.
Then why should he not himself take both to Le Havre?
Again she smiled at the thought. The idea had occurred to her that she did not even know if milor could ride. And if perchance he did sit a horse well, had he the physical strength, the necessary endurance, for that flight across country, without a halt, with scarce a morsel of food on the way?
She knew so little about him. Their lives had been spent apart. One brief year of wedded life, and they were more strange to one another than even they had been before their marriage. He no doubt thought her hard and unfeminine, she of a truth deemed him weak and unmanly.
Still there was no one else, and with her usual determination she forced her well-schooled mind to dismiss all those thoughts of her husband which were disparaging to him. She tried not to see him as she had done a little while ago, giving himself over so readily to the artificiallife of this Court of Versailles and its enervating etiquette, yielding to the whispered flatteries of Irène de Stainville, pandering to her vanity, admiring her femininity no doubt in direct contrast to his wife's more robust individuality.
Afterward, whenever she thought the whole matter over, she never could describe accurately the succession of events just as they occurred on that morning. She seemed after a while to have roused herself from her meditations, having fully made up her mind to carry her project through from beginning to end, and with that infamous letter still in her hand she rose from her chair and walked across the vast audience chamber, with the intention of going to her own study, there to think out quietly the final details of her plans.
Her mind was of course intent on the Stuart Prince and his friends: onLe Monarqueand Captain Barre, and also very much now on her husband; but she could never recollect subsequently at what precise moment the actual voice of Lord Eglinton became mingled with her thoughts of him.
Certain it is that, when in crossing the room she passed close to the thronelike bedstead, whereupon her strangely perturbed imagination wilfully conjured up the picture of milor holding his court, with la belle Irène in a brilliant rose-coloured gown complacently receiving his marked attentions, she suddenly heard him speak:
"One second, I entreat you, Madame, if you can spare it!"
Her own hand at the moment was on that gilded knob of the door, through which she had been about to pass. His voice came from somewhere close behind her.
She turned slightly toward him, and saw him standing there, looking very fixedly at her, with a gaze which hadsomething of entreaty in it, and also an unexplainable subtle something which at first she could not quite understand.
"I was going to my study, milor," she said, a little taken aback, for she certainly had not thought him in the room.
"Therefore I must crave your indulgence if I intrude," he said simply.
"Can I serve you in any way?"
"Your ladyship is pleased to be gracious——"
"Yes?"
She was accustomed to his diffident manner and to his halting speech, which usually had the knack of irritating her. But just now she seemed inclined to be kind. She felt distinctly pleased that he was here. To her keenly sensitive nature it seemed as if it had been her thoughts which had called to him, and that something in him responded to her wish that he should be the man to take her confidential message to the commander ofLe Monarque.
Now his eyes dropped from her face and fixed themselves on the hand which had fallen loosely to her side.
"That paper which you hold, Madame——"
"Yes?"
"I pray you give it to me."
"To you? Why?" she asked, as the encouraging smile suddenly vanished from her face.
"Because I cannot bear the sight of Mme. la Marquise d'Eglinton, my wife, sullying her fingers one second longer by contact with this infamy."
He spoke very quietly, in that even, gentle, diffident voice of his, whilst his eyes once more riveted themselves on her face.
Instinctively she clutched the letter tighter, and her whole figure seemed to stiffen as she looked at him full now, a deep frown between her eyes, her whole attitude suggestive of haughty surprise and of lofty contempt. There was dead silence in the vast room save for the crackling of that paper, which to a keenly sensitive ear would have suggested the idea that the dainty hand which held it was not as steady as its owner would have wished.
It seemed suddenly as if with the speaking of a few words these two people, who had been almost strangers, had by a subtle process become antagonists, and were unconsciously measuring one another's strength, mistrustful of one another's hidden weapons. But already the woman was prepared for a conflict of will, a contest for that hitherto undisputed mastery, which she vaguely feared was being attacked, and which she would not give up, be the cost of defence what it may, whilst the man was still diffident, still vaguely hopeful that she would not fight, for his armour was vulnerable where hers was not, and she owned certain weapons which he knew himself too weak to combat.
"Therefore I proffer my request again, Madame," he said after a pause. "That paper——"
"A strong request, milor," said Lydie coldly.
"It is more than a request, Madame."
"A command perhaps?"
He did not reply; obviously he had noted the sneer, for a very slight blush rose to his pale cheeks. Lydie, satisfied that the shaft had gone home, paused awhile, just long enough to let the subtle poison of her last words sink well in, then she resumed with calm indifference:
"You will forgive me, milor, when I venture to call yourattention to the fact that hitherto I have considered myself to be the sole judge and mentor of my own conduct."
"Possibly this has worked very well in all matters, Madame," he replied, quite unruffled by her sarcasm, "but in this instance you see me compelled to ask you—reluctantly I admit—to give me that letter and then to vouchsafe me an explanation as to what you mean to do."
"You will receive it in due course, milor," she said haughtily; "for the moment I must ask you to excuse me. I am busy, and——"
She was conscious of an overwhelming feeling of irritation at his interference and, fearing to betray it beyond the bounds of courtesy, she wished to go away. But now he deliberately placed his hand on the knob, and stood between her and the door.
"Milor!" she protested.
"Yes, I am afraid I am very clumsy, Madame," he said quite gently. "Let us suppose that French good manners have never quite succeeded in getting the best of my English boorishness. I know it is against every rule of etiquette that I should stand between you and the door through which you desire to pass, but I have humbly asked for an explanation and also for that letter, and I cannot allow your ladyship to go until I have had it."