By the time the Court assembled that evening for the Queen's reception, every one had heard of it, and also that milor, having had a violent quarrel with his wife, had quitted or was about to quit Versailles without further warning.
The news was indeed exceedingly welcome. Not from any ill-will toward Lord Eglinton, of course, who was very popular with the ladies and more than tolerated by the men, nor from any sense of triumph over Madame Lydie, although she had not quite so many friends as milor, but because it happened to be Thursday, and every Thursday Her Majesty the Queen held her Court from seven o'clock till nine o'clock: which function was so deadly dull, that there was quite an epidemic of dislocated jaws—caused by incessant yawning—among the favoured few who were both privileged and obliged to attend. A piece of real gossip, well-authenticated, and referring to a couple so highly placed as Lord and Lady Eglinton, was therefore a great boon. Even Her Majesty could not fail to be interested, as Lydie had always stood very highly in the good graces of the prim and melancholy Queen, whilst milor was one of that very small and very select circle which the exalted lady honoured with her conversation on public occasions.
Now on this same Thursday evening, Queen Marie Leszcynska entered her throne-room precisely at seven o'clock. Madame Lydie was with her as she entered, and it was at once supposed that Her Majesty was already acquainted with Lord Eglinton's decision, for she conversed with the neglected wife with obvious kindliness and sympathy.
His Majesty was expected in about a quarter of an hour. As Madame de Pompadour and her immediate entourage were excluded from these solemn functions, the King showed his disapproval of the absence of his friends by arriving as late as etiquette allowed, and by looking on at the presentations, and other paraphernalia of his wife's receptions, in morose and silent ennui.
This evening, however, the proceedings were distinctly enlivened by that subtle and cheerful breath of scandal, which hovered all over the room. Whilst noble dowagers presented débutante daughters to Her Majesty, and grave gentlemen explained to fledgling sons how to make a first bow to the King, groups of younger people congregated in distant corners, well away from the royal dais and discussed the great news of the day.
Lydie did not mingle with these groups. In addition to her many other dignities and functions, she was Grande Maréchale de la Cour to Queen Marie Leszcynska and on these solemn Thursday evenings her place was beside Her Majesty, and her duty to present such ladies of high rank who had either just arrived at Court from the country or who, for some other reason, had not yet had the honour of a personal audience.
Chief among these reasons was the Queen's own exclusiveness. The proud daughter of Stanislaus of Poland with her semi-religious education, her narrow outlook on life, her unfortunate experience of matrimony, had a wholesome horror of the frisky matrons and flirtatious minxes whom Louis XIV's taste had brought into vogue at the Court of France; and above all, she had an unconquerable aversion for the various scions of that mushroom nobility dragged from out the gutter by the catholic fancies of le Roi Soleil.
Though she could not help but receive some of these people at the monster Court functions, which the elaborate and rigid etiquette of the time imposed upon her, and whereat all the tatterdemalions that had e'er filched a handle for their name had, by that same unwritten dictum, the right of entry, she always proudly refused subsequently to recognize in private a presentation to herself, unless it was made by her special leave, at one of her own intimate audiences, and through the mediation either of her own Grande Maréchale de la Cour, or of one of her privileged lady friends.
Thus Madame la Comtesse de Stainville, though formally presented at the general Court by virtue of her husband's title and position, had never had the honour of an invitation to Her Majesty's private throne-room. Queen Marie had heard vague rumours anent the early reputation of "la belle brune de Bordeaux"; this very nick-name, freely bandied about, grated on her puritanic ear. Irène de Stainville, chafing under the restrictions which placed her on a level with the Pompadours of the present and the Montespans or La Vallières of the past, had more than once striven to enlist Lydie's help and protection in obtaining one of the coveted personal introductions to Her Majesty.
Lydie, however, had always put her off with polite but ambiguous promises, until to-day, when her heart, overfilled with gratitude for Gaston de Stainville, prompted her to do something which she knew must please him, and thus prove to him that she was thinking of him at the very time when he was risking his entire future and probably his life in an attempt to serve her.