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

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<h2>CHAPTER XIV. ONE MAN’S MEAT IS ANOTHER’S POISON.</h2> AT ten in the morning, Andrea was writing to her father to inform him of the happy news which Richelieu had already communicated to him. Her room, in the corridor of the chapel, was not grand for a rival princess’s lady of attendance but it was a delightful abode for one who liked repose and solitude. Andrea had obtained permission to breakfast in her rooms whenever she liked; this was a precious boon as it gave her the mornings to herself. She could read or go out for a saunter in the park, and come home without being annoyed by lord or lackey. Suddenly a tapping at the door, discreetly given, aroused her attention. She raised her head as the door opened, and uttered a slight cry of astonishment as the radiant face of Nicole appeared from the little antechamber. “Good morning, mistress! yes, it is I,” said the girl, with a merry courtsey which was not free from apprehension, knowing her lady’s character. “You—what wind brings you?” replied Andrea, laying down her pen to talk. “I was forgotten, but I have come. The baron said I was to do so,” said Nicole, bending the black eyebrows which Richelieu’s hair-dye had made; “you would not turn me back, when I only wanted to please my mistress. This is what one gets for loving her betters!” sighed the girl, with an attempt to squeeze a tear out of her fine eyes. The reproach had enough feeling in it to touch Andrea. “My child, I am waited on here, and I cannot think of charging the Dauphiness with an additional mouth.” “Not when it is not so large a one?” questioned the maid, pouting the rosebud mouth in argument, with a winsome smile. “No matter, your presence here is impossible on account of your likeness—— ” “Why, have you not looked on my face? it has been altered by a fine old nobleman who came to see master and tell him of Master Philip’s getting a company of soldiers from the King. As he saw master was sorrowing about you being alone, he heard the reason and said that nothing was easier than to change light to dark. He took me to his house where his valet turned me out as you behold me.” “You must love me,” said Andrea smiling, “to come and be a prisoner shut up with me in this palace.” “The rooms are not lively,” said Mdlle. Legay, after a swift glance round them, “but you will not be always mewed up here.” “I may not, but you will not go out for the promenade with the princess, the parties, cardplay, and social gatherings; your place would be here to die of weariness.” “Oh, there must be a peep at something through the windows. If one can see out, others can see me. That is good enough for Nicole—do not fret about me.” “Nicole, I cannot do it without express order.” The maid drew a letter from the baron from her tucker which settled the dispute. It was thus conceived: <div class="blockquot"> “MY DEAR ANDREA: I know, and it has been remarked, that you do not hold the station at the Trianon which your birth entitles you to do: you lack a maid and a pair of lackeys as I do twenty thousand a year; but in the same way as I content myself with a thousand, you must shift with one maid—so take Nicole who will do you all the service requisite. She is active, intelligent and devoted; she will quickly pick up the tone and manners of the palace; take care not to stimulate but enchain her good-will to yourself. Keep her and do not fear that you are depriving me. A good friend gives me the advice that his Majesty, who has the kindness to think of us and to remark you on sight, will not let you want for the proper outfit for your appearance at court. Bear this in mind as of the highest importance. YOUR AFFECTIONATE FATHER.” </div> This threw the reader into painful perplexity. Poverty was pursuing her into her new prosperity, and making that a blemish which she considered merely an annoyance. She was on the point of angrily breaking her pen, and tearing the commenced letter in order to reproach her father with such an outburst of disinterested philosophical denial as Philip would have freely signed. But she seemed to see her father’s ironical smile when he should read this masterpiece and away fled her intention. So she answered with the following record of what was passing: <div class="blockquot"> “FATHER: Nicole has just arrived and I receive her as you desire it; but what you write on the subject, drives me to despair. Am I less ridiculous with this little rustic girl as waiting-woman than alone among these rich ladies waited on hand and foot? Nicole will be miserable at my humiliation for servants smile or frown as their masters are looked upon. She will dislike me. As for the notice of his Majesty, allow me to tell you, father, that the King has too much intelligence to try to make a great lady of one so unfitted, and too much good nature to notice or comment on my poverty—far from it to want to change it into ease which your title and services would legitimatise in everybody’s eyes.” </div> It must be confessed that this candid innocence and noble pride mated the astuteness and corruption of her tempters. Andrea spoke no more against Nicole but kept her. She confined herself to her corner so as to remind one of the Persian’s roseleaf floated on the goblet of rosewater brimfull, to prove that a superfluous joy may be added to perfect content. When Nicole was left to herself she made a survey of the neighborhood. This did not promise much fun. But at an upper window over the stables she caught a glimpse of a man’s face which made her have recourse to a scheme to draw it out. She hid behind the curtains of the window left wide open. She had to wait some time, but at length appeared a young man’s head; timid hands rested on the window-sill, and a face rose with caution. Nicole nearly fell back flat on her two shoulders for it was Gilbert, her former companion on the manor of Taverney. Unfortunately he had seen her, and he disappeared. He would rather have seen old Nick himself. “What use now is my foolish discovery of which I was so proud? In Paris my knowledge that Nicole had a sweetheart whom she let into her master’s house gave me a hold on her. But out here, she has hold on me.” Serving as lash to his hate, all his self-conceit boiled his blood with extreme vehemence. He felt sure that war was declared between him and the maid; but as he was a prudent youth who could be politic, he wanted to open hostilities in his own way and at his own time. Watching night and day for a week, without showing himself again, Gilbert at last caught sight of the plume of the guards corporal which was familiar to him. It was indeed that of Corporal Beausire, the trooper who had followed the court from Paris to the Trianon. Nicole played the coldly cruel for a while but in the end accorded Corporal Beausire an appointment. Gilbert followed the loving pair on the shady avenue leading to Versailles. He felt the ferocious delight of a tiger on a trail. He counted their steps, and sighs; he learnt by heart what they whispered to each other; and the result must have made him happy for he went up to his garret singing. Not only had he ceased to be afraid of Nicole but he impudently showed himself at the window. She was taking up “a ladder” in a lace mitten of her mistress at her window, but she looked up on hearing him singing a song of their old times in the country when he was courting her. She made a sour face which proclaimed her enmity. But Gilbert met it with so meaning a smile and his song and mien were so taunting that she lowered her head and colored up. “She has understood me,” said Gilbert; “this is quite enough.” Indeed she had the audacity to creep to his room door, but he had the prudence to deny her entrance, dangerous as was the temptation. It was only after many a mine and counter-mine that at last chance made them meet at the chapel door. “Good evening, Gilbert: are you here?” “Oh, Nicole, good evening—so you’ve come to Trianon?” “As you see, our young lady’s maid still.” “And I our Master’s gardener’s-man.” Whereupon she dropped an elaborate courtsey which won his bow like a courtier’s; and they went their ways. But each was but pretending for, Gilbert, following the girl, saw her once more go to meet a man in one of the shady walks. It was dark but Gilbert noticed that this was not the trooper; rather an elderly man, with a lofty air and dainty tread spite of age. Going nearer and passing under his nose with audacity he recognized him as the Duke of Richelieu. “Plague take her! after the corporal a Marshal of France—Nicole is aiming high in the army!” he said. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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