Scaramouche (7 page)

"I wish that I were clever enough to make you see the folly of all this."

Madame de Plougastel put a hand on her shoulder. "Aline my dear can you find no excuse for him?"

"Can you, madame?"

"Why every excuse since hearing that this man was his friend. I would not have had him behave otherwise. Neither should you."

"It was not upon you he exercised his slyness, madame, or you might think differently. Nor is that all, as you know. What is this of a duel on your hands, André?"

"Oh, that!" André-Louis was airy, welcoming the change of subject. "That arranges itself."

"Arranges itself! You've ruined yourself completely with Monsieur."

"There at least, I can prove you wrong. I've seen Monsieur. His highness is tolerably pleased with me. It is my opponent who is out of favour."

"You ask me to believe this?"

"You may ascertain it for yourself. Monsieur pays attention to facts; permits a connection between cause and effect which you deny. When I had told him why I smacked M. de Tourzel's face he gave me reason. Monsieur de Tourzel is to apologize to me. I am waiting for him now."

"Monsieur de Tourzel is to apologize to you because you smacked his face?"

"No, my sweet perversity. But for the reason he gave me to do it."

"What reason?"

He told them, and saw distress in both their faces. "Monsieur," he added, "does not consider that a buffet suffices to extinguish the offence. That may be out of tenderness for you, because he perceived, as he said, that in a sense it touched your honour."

He saw her eyes soften at last, and winced to see it, accounting it the reflection of her gratitude to Monsieur. "That was gracious of his highness. You see, André, how gracious, how generous he can be."

Monsieur d'Entragues came in accompanied by Monsieur de Tourzel. André-Louis looked over his shoulder at them.

"I am wanted. Shall I see you again before I go, Aline?"

She had resumed her coldness. "Not to-day, André. I must consider all this. I am shaken. Hurt."

Madame de Plougastel leaned towards him. "Leave me to make your peace, André."

He kissed her hand, and then Aline's, which was very coldly yielded. Then, having held the door for them, he turned to meet the newcomers.

The tall, offending young officer was looking pale and vicious. No doubt he had received the messages intimating Monsieur's displeasure, and he saw his advancement imperilled by the events. He came stiffly to attention before André-Louis, and bowed formally. André-Louis returned the bow as formally.

"I am commanded by Monsieur to retract the words I used to you last night, sir, and to apologize for them."

André-Louis disliked the studiously offensive tone.

"I am commanded by Monsieur to accept the apology. I gather that we make this exchange of civilities with mutual regret."

"Certainly with regret on my side," said the officer.

"You may temper it, then, with the reflection that once your duty to his majesty no longer claims your sword, you may call upon me for anything that you may conceive I owe you."

Only Monsieur d'Entragues' intervention at that moment saved Captain de Tourzel's countenance.

"Messieurs. what is this? Will you build a new quarrel out of the old one? There is no more to be said between you. This affair must go no further, nor must it be resumed under pain of Monsieur's severe displeasure. You understand me, gentlemen?"

They bowed and separated and André-Louis went back to his inn in an indifferent humour.

CHAPTER VII

MADAME DE BALBI

At long last the great Prussian and Austrian legions, reinforced by the chivalry of France, were moving forward. Longwy was being invested and the campaign for Throne and Altar was beginning in earnest, just one month later than it should have begun but for the vagaries of the King of Prussia the Agamemnon of this invading host.

A month ago, when all was ready and the weather fine, this Prussian giant had descended upon Coblentz and upon Charles William of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, who was the real commander-in-chief and a soldier of repute. Suspending all effective movement, his Majesty had wasted precious time upon reviews, parades and fetes to celebrate a victory which had yet to be won.

The brothers of the King of France possessing no greater military acumen than his majesty of Prussia were content enough to co-operate in these junketings, and to waste upon them large sums of the borrowed money which already was running woefully short. Condé, the only soldier among the Princes, fretted the while in his camp at Worms over a delay that was all in favour of the unready enemy, and grumbled—not without reason—that an invisible hand withheld them perilously from attempting an assured success.

Now, at last, all delays were ended; now that the rains had converted the Rhineland into a world of mud. The Princes were at once to rejoin the army of the émigrés, and make a pretence at least of commanding it, under the mentorship of Condé and the Maréchal de Broglie. Their ladies—that is to say, the wife of one of them and the mistresses of both—were to leave Coblentz at once.

Madame was to repair to her father's court at Turin. But because the King of Sardinia had already experienced the prodigality of his sons-in-law (for each of the sons of France had married a princess of Savoy) he strictly delimited the suite that was to attend her highness. Some ladies-in-waiting, however, she must have, and to Madame de Balbi and Madame de Gourbillon she would have added Mademoiselle de Kercadiou but for certain activities on the part of Madame de Balbi, activities which—so badly do we sometimes blunder when we seek to shape our destinies—were to precipitate in the end the very situation which with such clear reckoning they were calculated to avert.

An Electoral carriage brought Madame de Balbi, in the pursuit of these activities, one afternoon to the door of the Three Crowns.

Now it happened that Monsieur de Kercadiou, complaining of the cold and damp and of a general weariness resulting from his condition, had put himself to bed, and André-Louis was sitting alone over a book when a footman, ushered by a waiting-maid, brought the startling announcement of Madame la Comtesse de Balbi's presence.

In bewildered conjecture André-Louis consented to act as his godfather's deputy, and desired that the Countess be brought up.

She came, throwing back her gossamer light cloak and wimple, and her presence and personality seemed to bring a radiance into that long, low-ceilinged room. Her crisp, melodious tones offered apologies for her intrusion and regrets for the condition and absence of Monsieur de Kercadiou.

"But the matter is almost more personal to yourself than to pair godfather, Monsieur Moreau."

"I am honoured by your memory, madame," said André-Louis, surprised to hear his name so glibly from her lips. He I owed as he spoke, and offered her the armchair by the stove which Monsieur de Kercadiou had lately vacated.

She laughed as she advanced to take it, a rich musical laugh that reminded one of the note of a thrush.

"I suspect you guilty of modesty, Monsieur Moreau."

"You account it a guilt madame?"

"Of course, since it fetters expression." She sat down, and arranged her skirts.

Anne de Caumont La Force, unhappily married to that eccentric libertine Count de Balbi, who had brutally ill-treated her before he went mad and fortunately died, might from her appearance have been of any age from twenty-five to thirty-five. In reality she was already forty. She was small and elegantly dainty. Not beautiful, in spite of a pair of superb eyes, alluring in their glances, but endowed with an irresistible witchery to which all her contemporaries bear witness.

The glance of those magnificent dark eyes seemed now to envelop André-Louis, to challenge him, almost to woo him.

"I had remarked you at Schönbornlust monsieur, on the day of your arrival, and I remarked you let me say frankly, with admiration for your superb aplomb. I know no quality that better becomes a gentleman."

He would have answered her but the sparkling, voluble lady gave him no time. She swept on. "It is really on your account that I am here and as a result of the interest you inspire in me. Ah, but reassure yourself, Monsieur Moreau, I am not one of those greedy women who must find their every interest reciprocated and desire in addition to arouse interest which they cannot reciprocate."

"I should not crave reassurance, madame, from an amiable illusion."

You turn a phrase. Monsieur Moreau. But, indeed, it was to be expected in you. You have been an author I am told."

"I have been so many things, madame."

"And now you are the greatest thing of all: a lover. Ah believe one who knows. No man can aspire to more, for it brings him nearer Heaven than is otherwise possible on earth."

"Your lovers, madame, will have discovered that."

"My lovers! Ah, that! You speak as if I measured them by the bushel."

"It will ever rest with you, madame, how you measure them."

"Oh, I cry your mercy. This is a duel in which I risk defeat." She was as grave as her roguish eye and the tilt of her nose permitted. "It is to the lover that I have come to speak. For this is even more his affair than it is an uncle's. Therefore, we may leave Monsieur de Kercadiou in peace. Besides, it is not very easy to say what I have come to say, and it may be less difficult to say it to you alone. You will prove as understanding as I hope you will prove discreet."

"Discreet as a confessor, be sure of that, Madame," said André-Louis, inwardly a little impatient.

The Countess considered a moment, her perfect hands smoothing her petticoat of striped taffeta the while.

"When I shall have told you my errand you will be in danger of supposing me just a jealous woman. I warn you against it. I have much for which to answer. But jealousy is a vulgarity which I leave to the vulgar."

"It is inconceivable, madame, that you should ever have had occasion for it."

She flashed him a smile. "That may be the reason. Remember it when you come to judge me. I am to speak, sir, of the lady whom I am told you are to marry. Frankly, it is not on her own account that her fate concerns me, but because of the...let us say regard... which you, monsieur, inspire me."

André-Louis was stirred. "Her fate, madame? Is she, then, in danger?"

She shrugged, thrust out a full sensual nether lip, and showed two dimples in a smile. "Some would not account it danger. It depends upon the point of view. In your eyes, Monsieur Moreau, site certainly cannot be accounted safe. Do you even suspect at whose desire she was appointed lady-in-waiting to Madame?"

"You will tell me that it was at Monsieur's," he replied frowning.

She shook her head. "It was at the desire of Madame herself."

He was suddenly at a loss. "But in that case, madame..." He broke off

"In that case you imagine that there is no more to say. You do not think it may be necessary to discover Madame's object. You assume it naturally to be a sympathy for that very charming person Mademoiselle de Kercadiou. That is because you do not know Madame. Mademoiselle de Kercadiou is singularly attractive. There is about her an air of sweetness of freshness, of innocence that arouses tenderness even in women. What, then, must it do in men? So far, for instance, as Monsieur is concerned, I have seldom seen his highness in such a state of deliquescence." There was something contemptuous in her smile, as if she found the susceptible side of Monsieur's nature entirely ridiculous. "Disabuse your mind of the thought that jealousy makes me see what is not present. The Count of Provence might trail a seraglio at his heels without perturbing me."

"But you bewilder me, madame...Am I to believe that because Monsieur...discovered attractions in Mademoiselle de Kercadiou that is a reason why Madame should appoint her to a position that will throw her in his way? Surely not that?"

"Just that, monsieur. Just that. Madame's nature is peculiar; it is warped, soured, malicious. For the satisfaction of contemplating injury to another she will endure even injury to herself. It happens with such natures. I have the distinction of being detested by Madame. This is all the more bitter in her because she is constrained to suffer my attendance and to be civil to me. Now do you understand?"

André-Louis was visibly troubled. "I seem to. And yet..."

"Madame would give her eyes to see me supplanted in the regard, the affection of Monsieur. Does that help you?"

"You mean that to achieve this object, although the exchange can nothing profit her, her highness desires to use Mademoiselle de Kercadiou?"

"That is as concise as it is accurate."

"It is also infamous."

The Countess shrugged. "I should not use so fine a word. It is just the petty malice of a stupid, parasitic woman who is without useful thoughts to engage her."

"I perceive your good intentions, madame." André-Louis was very formal. "You desire to warn me. I am deeply grateful."

"The warning, my friend is hardly uttered yet. Madame sets out to-morrow for Turin. I am to accompany her highness. My position at court demands it. I beg that you will not laugh, Monsieur Moreau."

"I am not laughing, madame."

"You have great self-restraint. I had already observed it." The dimples showed again in her cheeks. Then she swept on: "Madame's train has been reduced to vanishing point by the King of Sardinia, who looks upon us as locusts. Her only ladies besides myself were to be the Duchess of Caylus and Madame de Gourbillon. But now, at the last moment, her highness has insisted that Mademoiselle de Kercadiou be added. Do you perceive the aim, and what must follow? If she leaves Mademoiselle de Kercadiou in Coblentz, that may well be the last that she will ever see of her. You may be married you two, or other circumstances may arise to prevent her from ever returning to court. But if Mademoiselle remains at her side, in a month—in two months at most—when this campaign is ended, we shall be back at Versailles, and your Aline will again be dangled before Monsieur, whose heart may have grown fonder in the absence. You understand me, I think, Monsieur Moreau."

"Oh, perfectly, madame." His tone was stern and not without a touch of reproof. "Even that in your calculations you leave out of all account Mademoiselle de Kercadiou's strength of character and virtue."

The Countess de Balbi shrugged, pursed her full lips and smiled.

"Yes. You have the fine spirit of a lover: to regard the virtue of his mistress as a rock. But I, who am a mere woman, and who, therefore, know women, who have lived a little longer than you, and who have spent this life of mine in courts, I tell you that it is imprudent to ground your faith on nothing more. Virtue, when all is said, is an idea. And ideas are governed by environment. The environment of a court plays havoc with virtue, my friend. Accept my word for it. You know, at least, that nothing will so quickly wilt a woman's reputation as the attentions of a prince. There is a glamour about the office which no cloddishness in the holder can completely extinguish. Princes in a woman's eyes are heirs to all the romance of the ages, even when they are as unromantic in themselves as our poor King Louis."

"You tell me nothing that I do not know, madame."

"Ah, true!" her irony flashed out again. "I had almost forgotten that you are a republican."

"Not so. I am a constitutional monarchist."

"Faith, that's accounted even worse here at Coblentz." She rose abruptly. "I have said all that I came to say. The rest is for you."

"And for Mademoiselle de Kercadiou."

She looked at him, and shook her head. She set a dainty hand upon his arm. Her smile broke dazzlingly upon her roguish face. "Are you so much the gentle, serving, docile lover? This will not answer. A woman needs to be ordered by the man to whom she has given the right. If you cannot prevent Mademoiselle de Kercadiou from going to Turin, why, faith, you do not deserve to win her, and you were better not to do so."

André-Louis considered her gravely. "I do not think that I am very clever with women, madame," he confessed, and so far as I can discover it is the only lack of cleverness to which he aver did confess.

"You'll lack experience. Indeed, you have the air of it."

She drew still nearer to him. Her superb eyes glowed upon him, magnetically disturbing. "Do you reserve for men all your audacity? Your enterprise?"

He laughed, ill at ease, bewildered, almost struggling with an odd intoxication.

She sighed. "Why, yes. I fear you do. Well, well! Time may instruct you better. You shall be remembered in my prayers, Monsieur Moreau."