The new mourning had scarce had time to be fitted to his comely figure before the whole youth himself had become a different being. There are some whom a single glass of wine intoxicates; Enguerrand de Joncelles was intoxicated at the very first sip of life.… Such a flutter of silk and curls; such constellations of eyes, brilliant or melting or mockingly challenging; such lightning of wit; such whispers, such sighs! In one day he had learned to return, with interest, an œillade that, within the precincts of Caen Cathedral, would have made him drop a modest lid—and set him dreaming for a week. Within a very little while more he had mastered the art of capturing a soft hand and holding it hidden in tender pressure, the while presenting a decorous front to stately company. He had also learned to look down in the right measure of disdain upon the burgher; to bandy, in all delicacy, audacious pleasantry with his equals on the Grand Staircase of the Louvre, or in the Galérie de l’Œil-de-Bœuf. He could whip out his new-mode small-sword with as swift a grace as the best noted ruffler. He was able to be more obviously dazzled by the splendour of the Roy-Soleil than many a past-master sycophant—withal cultivating a fine insensibility of outward aspect, keeping the delicate beauty of his features set as in a fine white mask, his voice low-toned—only now and again permitting the wide-pupilled black eyes to betray by a flash the constant alertness of the inner mind.
These demure airs gave a singular piquancy to the boldness of his words and deeds, one which was not without its special effect in that court of solemn sham and wearisome etiquette. Heaven only knows where the precious only son of Madame de Joncelles had found such sudden knowledge of the world, such astuteness and such recklessness combined. It was a merciful Providence that spared his pious mother the sight of the ultimate blossoming of her carefully pruned young tree!
Attached (together with his sister, Madame de Mantes, a noted beauty of Versailles) to the train of Madame Henriette d’Orléans, on the occasion of that princess’s first journey to England since the happy restoration of her royal brother, he now was ushered to the court of Whitehall. What the apt youth here saw and learned filled him deep with surprise—a surprise, however, which he was careful not to betray. Beyond doubt it was a merry place, this court of Charles—if its methods were a trifle astonishing. Enguerrand was not one who would let pass a single opportunity for self-instruction, and now and again, despite his impassive attitude where the natural acuteness of his wits failed him, he condescended to ask for information.
He was in a questioning mood, this night at Whitehall, when, for the first time, he was admitted to the King’s more private circle. By good adventure, he found himself beside a gentleman who seemed to possess an intimate knowledge of the royal ways as well as an amiable readiness to impart it. This was an elderly little man of the name of Petherick, who once, evidently, had been handsome, and was still à la mode. As Enguerrand was to learn later, Mr. Petherick justified his established position at Court by a notable ingenuity in discovering fresh sources of amusement for the easily wearied Charles. Now the acute person’s eye rested critically upon the elegance of the foreign boy; his Majesty liked new faces and new fashions, and his Majesty especially liked the French.
“Aye,” said Petherick, as if pursuing his thought aloud, “the King is vastly fond of your country, Vidame—and of your countrywomen, just now. See—that divine dark creature that came with Madame Henriette; I’ve laid a wager, to wit, that her Royal Highness will have to leave her lady-in-waiting behind, when she returns to France.”
“Sir—you mean, I see, Madame de Mantes,” said Enguerrand, coolly. “My sister.”
“Monsieur de Joncelles…? Ah, of course, Madame de Mantes is married. And M. de Mantes?”
“Say was married—happily widowed within a few months,” said the little Vidame, with elaborate coolness. And from his post slightly in the background he gazed at the brilliant royal circle and singled out the familiar dark curly head, the peach-like cheek, the childlike lustrous eyes with quite a new interest.
Mr. Petherick had too good an experience of the Court not to be more than ever gracious to a newcomer, who proved to be the brother of a beauteous sister.
Following the direction of the Vidame’s eyes, he pointed out the personalities of major importance—handsome Castlemaine, sullen and aggressive to-night; and fair Stewart with her childish face and her studied coldness of demeanour, and put Master Enguerrand au courant of some spicy snippets. Buckingham proclaimed himself by his magnificence, his insolence, and his gaiety.