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Marie Antoinette Romances, Vol 2: The Mesmerist's Victim

<h2>CHAPTER XIII. NICOLE IS VALUED PROPERLY.</h2> THE only guest left in the palace was Cardinal Rohan redoubting his gallantry towards the princess, who received him but cooly. As the Dauphin retired he feared it would look bad to remain, so he took leave with all the tokens of the most profound but affectionate respect. As he was stepping into his coach, a waiting woman slipped up and all but entering the vehicle, she whispered: “I have got it.” She put a small packet in the prince’s hand, wrapped in tissue paper, and it made him start. “Here’s for you, an honorable salary,” he replied, giving her a heavy purse. Without losing time, the cardinal ordered his coachman to go on to Paris where, at the toll-bar he gave him fresh orders to drive to St. Claude Street. On the way, he had in the darkness felt the paper, and kissed it as a lover would a keepsake. Soon after he was treading the parlor carpet of the mysterious house where La Dubarry and Duke Richelieu had been appalled by Balsamo’s power. It was he who appeared to welcome the cardinal but after some delay, for which he excused himself as he had not expected visitors so late. It was nearly eleven. “It is so, and I ask pardon, baron,” said the other; “but you may remember that you told me that you could reveal certain secrets if you had a tress of the hair of the person—— ” “Of whom we spoke,” interrupted the magician guardedly, as he had already caught sight of the little parcel in the simple prelate’s hand. “It is very good if you have brought it.” “Shall I be able to have it again after the experiment?” “Unless we have to test it with fire—— ” “Never mind, then, for I can get some more. Can I have the answer to-night—I am so impatient.” “I will try, my lord. At all events, midnight is the spirit’ hour.” He took the packet which was a lock of hair and ran up to Lorenza’s room. “I am going to learn the secret about this dynasty,” he said on the way. “The hidden design of the Supreme Architect.” Before he opened the secret door he put the medium into the magnetic sleep. Hence she who hated him when in her senses greeted him with a tender embrace. With difficulty he tore himself from her arms but it was imperative—only a child or a virgin can be used to the utmost extent for clairvoyance. It was hard to tell which was more painful to the poor mesmeriser, the abuse of the Italian wife when awake or her caresses when asleep. Putting the paper in her hand, he asked: “Can you tell me whose hair this is?” She laid it on her breast and on her forehead, for it was there she saw though her eyes were open. “It comes from an illustrious head.” “Is she going to be happy?” “So far, no cloud hovers over her.” “Though she is married?” “Yes, she is married, but, like me, she is still a virgin—purer than I, for I love my husband.” “Fatality!” muttered the wizard. “Thank you, Lorenza, I know all I wanted.” He kissed her, put the hair carefully in his pocket, and cutting a small tress from the Italian’s head, he burnt it in a candle. The ashes, wrapped in the paper, he gave to the cardinal when with him once more. On the way down stairs he awakened Lorenza. “The oracle says that you may hope, prince,” said Balsamo. “It said that?” cried the ravished prince. “Your highness may conclude so, as it said that she does not love her husband.” “Joy!” said Rohan. “I had to burn the lock to obtain the verdict by the essence,” explained the necromancer, “but here are the ashes which I scrupulously preserved for each grain is worth a thousand.” “Thank you, my lord; I shall never be able to repay you.” “Do not let us speak of that. One piece of advice, though: Do not wash the ashes down with wine as some lovers do; it is a mistaken course for it might make your love incurable and turn the object cold.” “I shall take care not to do that,” said the prelate; “Farewell, count!” Twenty minutes after, his carriage crossed that of Duke Richelieu, which it almost upset into one of the pits where they were excavating for a house, much building going on. “Why, prince!” cried the older peer, with a smile. “Hush, duke!” replied Rohan, laying a finger on his lips. And away they were carried in opposite directions. Richelieu was going to Baron Taverney’s residence in Coq-Heron Street. The baron was seated before a dying fire, lecturing Nicole, or rather, chucking her under her pretty chin. “But I am dying of weariness here, master,” she protested with wanton swinging of her hips in protest, “it was promised me that I should go to the palace with my mistress.” It was at this point that the old rake fondled her, no doubt to cheer her up. “Here I am between four ugly walls,” she went on wailing her fate: “no society—not enough air to breathe. But at Trianon, I should have people around me, and see luxury—stare and be stared at.” “Fie, little Nicole!” “Oh, I am only a woman like the rest of us.” “No, you are more tempting than the rest,” said the old reprobate. “I only wish I were younger and rich again for your sake.” At this juncture the door-bell rang and startled the master and maid. “Run and see who can come at half-past eleven, girl.” Nicole went out and through the passage by the house on the other street, and through the door which she left open. Richelieu saw a shadow of military aspect flit. This shadow and the face of Nicole, lighted up by her candle, enabled the old noble to read her character at a glance. “Our old scamp of a Taverney spoke about his daughter, but he never breathed a word about the pretty maid,” he muttered. “The Duke of Richelieu!” Nicole announced, not without a flutter of the heart, for the lady-killer was notorious. It produced such a sensation on the baron that he got up and went to the door without believing his ears. “Do you know what has brought me,” said the duke, giving hat and cane to Nicole to be more at ease in a chair. “Or rather what I have brought my old brother-officer? why, the company you asked the other day for your son. The King has just given it. I refused to act then for I was likely to be the Prime Minister but now that I have declined the post I can ask a favor. Here it is.” “Such bounty on your part—— ” “Pooh! it is the natural outcome of my duty as a friend. But mark that the King does this more to spite Lady Dubarry than to oblige me. He knows that your son offended the Lady by quarreling with her bully of a brother on the highway. That is why she takes me in off-dudgeon at present.” “You want me to believe that you serve me to spite the Dubarry woman?” “Have it so. By the way, you have a daughter as well as a son.” “Yes.” “She is sixteen, fair as Venus, and—— ” “You have seen her?” “At Trianon, where I passed the evening with her—— and the King and I talked about her by the hour together. Are you vexed at this?” “Certainly not; but the King is accused of having—— ” “Bad morals? is that what you were about to say?” “Lord forbid! I would not speak ill of his Majesty, who has the right to have any kind of morality he likes.” “What is the meaning of your astonishment, then? do you intend to assert that Mdlle. de Taverney is not an accomplished beauty and that consequently the King has not the right to look at her with an admiring eye?” Taverney simply shrugged his shoulders and fell into a brown study, watched by Richelieu’s pitilessly prying eye. “All right! I guess what you would say if you spoke aloud,” continued the marshal, “to wit that the King is habituated to bad company. That he likes the mud, as they say; but would be all the better if he turned from salacious talk, libertine glances, and the common woman’s jests to remark this treasure of grace and charm of every kind—the nobly-born young lady with chaste affections and modest bearing—— ” “You are truly a great man, duke, for you have guessed aright,” answered Taverney. “It is tantamount to saying that it is high time for our master no longer to force us, nobles, peers and companions of the King of France, to kiss the base and harpy hand of a courtesan of the Dubarry type. Time that he danced to our piping, and that after falling from the Marchioness of Chateauroux, who was fit to be a duchess, to the Pompadour, who was the daughter and wife of a cook, then from her to Dubarry, and from her again to some kitchen wench or dairymaid. It is humiliating to us, baron, who wear coronets round our helmets, to bend our heads to such jades.” “Ah, here be truths well spoken,” said Taverney, “and it is clear that a void is made at court by these low fashions.” “With no queen, no ladies; with no ladies, no courtiers; and the commoners are on the throne in Jeanne Vaubernier, now Dubarry, a seamstress at Paris.” “Granting things stand so, yet—— ” “There is a fine position at present. I tell you, my lord, for a woman of wit to rule France—— ” “Not a doubt of it, but the post is held,” said Taverney with a throbbing heart. “A woman,” pursued the marshal, “who, without vice, would have the far-reaching views, calculation and boldness of these vixens; one who would so adorn her fortune that she would be spoken of after the monarchy ceased to exist. Has your daughter brightness and sense?” “Yes.” “And she is lovely, of the charming and voluptuous turn so pleasing men; with that virginal flower of candor which imposes respect on women themselves. You must take care of your treasure, my old friend.” “You speak of her with an animation which—— ” “Why, I am madly in love with her and would marry her to-morrow if I could get rid of my seventy-four years. But is she well off? has she the luxury round her which so fair a blossom deserves? Nay, my dear baron, this evening she went to her lodgings, without a maid, or footman, and one of the Dauphin’s henchmen carried a lantern before her—it looked like some girls of middleclass life.” “How can one help it when not rich?” “Rich or not, Taverney, you must have a waiting-maid for her.” “I know she ought to have one,” sighed the old noble. “Why, what is this sprightly Abigail who opened the door to me,” said Richelieu, “cunning and pretty, on my word!” “She is her maid but I dared not send her to the palace.” “I wonder why, when she seems cut out for the part?” “Have you looked on her face and not noticed the resemblance to—come here, Nicole!” Nicole came quickly for she was listening at the door. The duke took her by both hands and held her between his knees; but she was not daunted by the great lord’s impertinent gaze and was not put out for an instant. “By Jove, you are right, there is a resemblance,” he said. “You know to whom, and how impossible it is to risk the rise of my house on some ugly trick of chance. Is it the thing that this little down-at-the-heel hussy Nicole should look like the highest head in France?” “Pish!” exclaimed Nicole, tartly, as she disengaged herself to reply more easily to her master, “is it a fact that the hussy does so closely resemble the illustrious lady? Has she the low shoulder, quick eye, round leg and dimpled arm of the hussy? In any case, my lord, if you run me down, it is not because you can have any hope to catch me!” She finished in anger which made her red and consequently splendid in beauty. The duke caught her again and said as he gave her a look full of caresses and promises: “Baron, to my idea, Nicole has not her like at court. As for the touch of likeness, we will manage about that. Pretty Nicole has admirable light hair and nose and eyebrows quite imperial—but in a quarter of an hour before a toilet glass these blemishes will disappear, as the baron reckons them such. Nicole, my dear, do you want to go to the palace?” “Oh, don’t I though!” cried the girl with all her greedy soul in the words. “You shall go, my pet: and make a fortune there, without doing any harm to the advancement of others. Trot away, little one; the rest does not concern you. A word with you, my lord.” “I venture to urge you to send some one to wait upon your daughter,” said the duke when alone with his friend, “because she must make a brave show and the King is not afraid of beauty-guards with knowing phizzes. Besides, I know how the wind blows.” “Let Nicole go to the Trianon, since you think it will please the King,” replied Taverney with his pimp’s smile. “Write to your daughter that a maid named Nicole is coming. Another than Nicole would not fill the place so well. On my honor, I believe so.” The baron wrote a note which he handed to Richelieu. “I will give the instructions to Nicole, who is intelligent.” The baron smiled. “So you will trust her with me?” “Do what you can.” “You are to come with me, miss, and quick,” said the duke. Without waiting for the baron’s consent, Nicole got her clothes together in five minutes and as light as if she flew, she darted upon the box beside the ducal driver. The tempter took leave of his friend, who reiterated his thanks for the service rendered Philip of Redcastle. Neither said a word about Andrea; there was no need between them. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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