I had been installed nearly a month at the office, to the great satisfaction of Oudard and of M. de Broval (who, thanks to my beautiful handwriting, thought that M. Deviolaine had been too hard on me), when the former sent word by Raulot that he wanted me in his office. I hastened to respond to the invitation. Oudard looked very solemn. "My dear Dumas," he said, "M. le Duc d'Orléans has just asked me for someone to copy quickly and neatly a piece of work he has prepared for his counsel. Although there is nothing secret about it, you must understand that it will not do to have the papers left about in the office while being copied. I thought of you, because you write rapidly and correctly: it will be the means of bringing you before the duke. I am going to take you into his room."
I must confess I felt greatly excited on learning that I was about to find myself face to face with a man whose influence might be of much importance in the shaping of my destiny.
Oudard noticed the effect this news produced on me, and tried to reassure me by telling me of the perfect kindness of the duke. This did not at all prevent me from feeling very nervous as I approached His Royal Highness's room. I had a moment's respite, for His Royal Highness was at breakfast; but I soon heard a step that I guessed was his, and fear seized me once more. The door opened, and the Duc d'Orléans appeared. I had seen him already, once or twice, at Villers-Cotterets, when he came to the sale of the woods. I believe I said that he stayed then with M. Collard, from whom he was the recipient of the most lavish hospitality imaginable, although, so far as he himself was concerned, the Duc d'Orléans always tried to restrain hospitality offered him within the limits of a simple family visit.
M. le Duc d'Orléans had, as a matter of fact, the good feeling to recognise almost publicly his illegitimate relations: he had his two natural uncles—the two abbés Saint-Phar and Saint-Albin—living with him at the Palais-Royal, and he did not make any distinction between them and the other members of his family.
The prince would be fifty years old the following October: he was still a very good-looking man, though his figure was marred by his stoutness, which had increased during the past ten years; his face was frank, his eyes bright and intelligent, without depth or steadfastness; he was fluently affable, but nevertheless his words never lost their aristocratic savour unless his sole interest were to conciliate a vain citizen; he had a pleasant voice, which in his good-humoured moments was usually kind in tone; and, when he was in the mood, he could be heard, even a long way off, singing the mass in a voice almost as out of tune as that of Louis XV. I have since heard him sing the Marseillaise as falsely as he sang the mass. To make a long story short, I was presented to him: not much ceremony was observed in my case.
"Monseigneur, this is M. Dumas, of whom I have spoken to you, the protégé of General Foy."
"Oh, good!" replied the duke. "I was delighted to do something to please General Foy, who recommended you very warmly to me, monsieur. You are the son of a brave man, whom Bonaparte is said to have left almost to die of starvation."
I bowed in token of affirmation.
"You write a very good hand, you make and seal envelopes excellently; work, and M. Oudard will look after you."
"In the meantime," Oudard interposed, "Monseigneur wishes to entrust you with an important piece of work: His Highness desires it to be done promptly and correctly."