CHAPTER XVITHE FOUNTAIN OF NEPTUNE
Theautumn evening had already closed in on the noble gardens of Versailles. Alleys, parterres, and walks alike were deserted save by the Fountain of Neptune, where on a seat under the sombre shadows of the stately trees a woman, cloaked to her feet and hooded, sat patiently watching the ghostly glimmer of the statues in the dusk. She had not to wait long before a man cloaked also had quietly joined her.
“I am late, Mademoiselle,” he said, “but it is not my fault.”
“It does not matter, Chevalier,” Denise replied calmly, “the later the better for both of us.”
“No doubt. Ah, it is noble of you to come here alone, you who have so much to lose if——”
“We will not talk of that, please. I am here of my own free will and I would risk much more for the sake of the Queen, my mistress, and for France.”
“Yet I would it were not necessary.”
“Unhappily it is. That woman’s spies have made it impossible that you can any longer come to conferwith the Queen’s friends by the secret passage; if we are to succeed in our plan it must not be known that you, who are in the King’s private service, are an ally of the Ministers and of the Queen’s party; nor can you now openly visit her Majesty’s apartments as you did——”
“No,” said the Chevalier, “the new Captain of the Queen’s Guards has prevented that.”
For a minute or two Denise was silent. “Secrecy is necessary to success,” she resumed in a restrained voice; “I am here as you know on behalf of the Queen’s advisers; what others may think cannot affect those who are my friends, who believe in me because they believe in my—our—cause.”
“Not merely your friends, Marquise, but those who love you.”
“Monsieur, up there,” she pointed to the majestic front of the palace, where the lights were beginning to twinkle, “you can speak like that if you think fit. Down here I beg you to remember I am an orphan, a girl alone.”
And then both were silent.
“Are you sure, really quite sure,” Denise began, “that the Vicomte de Nérac owes his appointment to the intrigues of that woman?”
“I am absolutely sure.”
Denise sighed very faintly. “You will remember your promise not to reveal this discovery to any one else.”
“Certainly. But is it necessary?”
“No, not necessary. I ask it as a favour.”
The Chevalier bowed. Again there was silence, for her tone did not invite further question. “Have you discovered anything fresh of importance?” Denise asked presently.
“Several things, Mademoiselle.”
“Do they concern the Vicomte de Nérac?” she demanded quickly.
“Yes.”
“Then I do not wish to hear them. I cannot, I will not,” she added in a low voice of emotion.
The Chevalier made a gesture of despairing dismay. “But speak I must,” he said, “for things cannot be worse than they are. The King is absolutely infatuated. The Pompadour is wise enough to see that that may not last; she will not rest therefore till she has his Majesty completely in her power. This mysterious treachery is her chance. Let her discover the truth and the traitor and no one will prevail against her.” He paused to add, “And the man who will discover it for her is her friend and servant in secret, the Vicomte de Nérac.”
“You believe that?” she faced him eagerly.
“Mademoiselle, if there is any man in Versailles who can do it the Vicomte is that man.”
Denise clasped her hands. “What can we do, Chevalier?” she asked. “What can we do?”
The Chevalier took a step or two up and down.“There are only two courses,” he said very gravely. “Either the Vicomte must be compelled to break with the Pompadour—or—” he paused—“the King must be persuaded to dismiss him from Versailles—in plain words ruin him.”
Denise drew a deep breath. “Ah, God!” she murmured, “that woman, how I hate her! She steals the honourable soldiers of France and corrupts them; she corrupts the King, she wrongs a Queen who has wronged no one. Yes, I hate her because I am a woman, to whom because I believe in God and mynoblessethese things are hateful.”
“You are right, Mademoiselle,” sincerity rang in the boyish voice, “to me, too, she is the symbol in a woman’s form of all that is evil in France, and it is your France that will suffer for her ambition and her sins.”
“She will be punished,” said Denise, “God will punish her.Dieu le Vengeur!” she murmured.
The Chevalier had drawn a deep breath. “Dieu le Vengeur!” he repeated to himself almost mockingly. “It is a fine motto,Dieu le Vengeur!”
“It is strange,” she mused, “that you, Chevalier, who were not born a French noble, should feel as we do.”
“You have taught me,” he answered quietly. “Yes, yes, when I entered the King’s service I found a strange court and a strange master. It was you who taught me, what I could scarcely believe, that there arestill in France women worthy to be called noble, aye, and men, too. It is for your sake that I work, that I would help to overthrow and punish that low-born adventuress who would ruin the King. No, Marquise,” he added, “I do not forget your warning, and I say no more than this, that your love alone keeps me true to my task, to your—our—cause.”
“I thank you,” she answered with simple dignity. “Let us work for France, Chevalier, and for the right, and we shall win.”
He bid her adieu and vanished, for safety required that he should leave her first. Denise sank back into her seat lost in the bitter thought that André, the friend of her girlhood, the lover of whom for all her indignation she was proud, must either ruin her cause or be ruined by herself and her friends. A step on the gravel startled her.
“What is it, Chevalier?” she asked quickly.
The man peered into her face apparently as startled as she was. “It is not the Chevalier unfortunately,” André said with icy slowness, “but I am obliged for the information, Marquise.”
“Ah!” It was an exquisitely cruel moment. Flight on her part was impossible. “Ah, you came to spy,” she burst out, beside herself.
“Why deny it?” was the cool answer. “You would not believe me. So it was the Chevalier de St. Amant who avoided me so successfully in the dark just now. Happy Chevalier.”
“I will, I can explain,” she began incoherently.
“Pardon,” he interrupted. “The conduct of Mademoiselle la Marquise de Beau Séjour is no affair of mine. I regret, however, that as I have intruded on you I cannot offer you my escort, for it is neither in my interest nor in yours, Mademoiselle, that you and I should run the risk of being seen here by the Chevalier de St. Amant or by any one else who talks of secrets to all his friends. With your permission, therefore, I will leave you.”
Denise dropped into her seat with a sob. That André of all men should discover her here was anguish. Nor was it only that his discovery might mean the frustration of the schemes that were being so carefully planned; it was the cruel humiliation of herself against which all the womanhood in her cried out. If he had reproached her, accused her, denounced her, insulted her! No; he had only been cold as one who was indifferent or was ready to believe any evil.
Yet André was as unhappy as she, could she have but known it. Purely by accident on his return from Paris had he stumbled on Denise in the dark, and torturing thoughts made him feel bitter and then reckless. Denise, his Denise! Surely there was nothing to live for now. Love was a mockery and a sham. Women were all alike, faithless, vain, frivolous, worthless. He would do the Pompadour’s work without a twinge of conscience now, he would take what life had to offer of pleasure and revenge. Yes; he would revengehimself to the full on this perjured, intriguing, and immoral Court, and then he would go to die in the Low Countries.
Meanwhile Denise had returned safely to the Queen’s apartments and after supper sat alone in her misery in the room which opened off the hall of the Queen’s Guards. The curtains were drawn, but the door was ajar and she could hear a group of young nobles chattering as they played cards. Scattered remarks broke in on her bitter self-reproaches. Women’s names, some of them her friends, some of them dancers at the opera, were being freely bandied about. It was intolerable, vile, and her cheek burned to think that it was with these men that the priests and the ministers and herself were working to overthrow the Pompadour. She rose to close the door and shut out the scandalous babble, when a remark stammered out by the Comte des Forges sent a shiver through her.
“I t-tell you it is quite t-true,” he was saying. “Mont Rouge has l-learned that she m-met the Chevalier by the F-fountain of Neptune this very evening.”
“Quite true,” Mont Rouge assented in his most cynical tone. “But don’t spill the wine on the dice, dear friend.”
“But how did you learn?” several voices demanded.
“As one always does, from another woman, of course.” Mont Rouge was carelessly rattling the dice-box.
“And you believe it?”
“Certainly. Your turn to throw, Des Forges. Gad! your hand is shaky to-night. Why should I not believe it? The Marquise, I suppose, is like the rest of her sex, and,” he laughed softly, “the Chevalier is—the Chevalier.”
Des Forges sniggered fatuously. “Sixes—s-sixes. Name of St. Denys! You speak like a m-married m-man, Mont Ro-ouge.”
“What is Mont Rouge’s last scandal?” André had entered.
Half a dozen tongues eager with malice repeated the story. There was a pause. Denise stood thrilled. Her fate was in his hands.
“This is not scandal,” André said slowly and very clearly. “It is a lie.”
Chairs were excitedly pushed back. Dice-boxes and a table rolled over. Then dead silence.
“Yes,” said the clear voice. “I repeat it is a lie.”
“Monsieur le Vicomte,” Mont Rouge was speaking with an affectation of marked politeness but his voice shook with passion, “I beg you to remember who is responsible for the story. You will withdraw that insult.”
“At half-past six,” André proceeded calmly, “I was at the Fountain of Neptune. The Chevalier de St. Amant was not there. The Marquise de Beau Séjour was not there. The Comte de Mont Rouge will therefore no doubt see fit to withdraw his insult.”
“Where is the Chevalier de St. Amant?” “Have the Chevalier fetched,” suggested two or three.
“No,” said André firmly. “This is not the Chevalier’s affair. The Comte de Mont Rouge can deal with him when and how he pleases. For my part I repeat that the statement about the Marquise de Beau Séjour, for which apparently Monsieur le Comte is responsible, is a lie, and I have proved it.”
“The Vicomte de Nérac talks,” Mout Rouge answered fiercely, “as ifhishonour had been questioned.”
“Yes, sir, it has until you have withdrawn what you said.”
“And supposing I refuse to withdraw at your dictation?”
“It would be only what I expect. Gentlemen, I now assert in the presence of you all that the Comte de Mont Rouge is a liar, and I shall continue to repeat it until——”
“No, sir,” Mont Rouge interrupted. “You will not repeat it. But at half-past six to-morrow morning you will also in the presence of these gentlemen doubtless permit me to teach you that I am not to be insulted even by a Cordon Bleu!”
André bowed. “The Comte de St. Benôit will make the necessary arrangements,” he said quietly, “with the gentleman whom you will name.”
The room slowly emptied. André paced to and fro. The curtain was sharply flung aside, and he saw Denise pale and trembling.
The curtain was sharply flung aside, and he saw DeniseThe curtain was sharply flung aside, and he saw Denise.
The curtain was sharply flung aside, and he saw Denise.
The curtain was sharply flung aside, and he saw Denise.
“You will not fight?” she pleaded.
“I have no choice, Mademoiselle.”
“Oh, why did you say it?” she questioned passionately.
“It is surely very simple. Mademoiselle la Marquise has no father, husband, nor brother to maintain her honour. To me as Captain of the Queen’s Guards belongs by right the duty of defending her Majesty’s ladies from insults and lies.”
“But it was true,” she whispered brokenly.
“No,” he answered. “What was said and implied was not true. It was a lie, and you, Mademoiselle, please God, know it as I hope to do.”
The colour leaped into Denise’s cheeks. The thanks in her eyes were intoxicating.
“But if you are killed?” she murmured.
“Why, then, I suppose the Marquise de Pompadour will have the pleasure of appointing my successor.”
Denise shrank at the remorseless taunt. André’s face was pitiless.
“Do not be distressed,” he added as if he were addressing the wall. “I have a long account with the Comte de Mont Rouge and I welcome the opportunity of settling it so satisfactorily. Besides it is high time that these shameless tongues should be silenced. I do assure you that after to-morrow the Marquise de Beau Séjour will have nothing to fear—but the truth.”
Denise turned appealingly to him. “André!” she whispered softly. “André!”
For a moment his hands clenched. “Monsieur le Vicomte,” he corrected, frigidly, “who is your servant, Marquise.”
He raised the curtain with a stately reverence. In silence she walked past him, her head bowed, and in silence he saluted as became the Captain of the Queen’s Guard, to a maid of honour and a marquise. The gleam of the candles in their gilt sconces fell on her hair and neck, on the jewels on her breast. Then the curtain slowly swung between them.
When the woman of the Marquise de Beau Séjour brought in the morning cup of chocolate she found her mistress had passed a sleepless night of tears; but she was able to tell her that the Vicomte de Nérac had for the fiftieth time vindicated his superb swordsmanship, and that the Comte de Mont Rouge would not use his right arm for many weeks to come. And Denise knew that the Court had heard the last of that meeting by the Fountain of Neptune.