Nor was the obligation altogether on one side. It was whispered that even in her fallen fortunes the Marquise retained considerable influence at Court, that the appointment of Le Ber’s second son as one of the Dauphin’s pages, and later his commission in the Marines, had been due to her influence, and that the patent of nobility upon which the trader had set his heart would yet be obtained by the same favor. While anxious to obtain a high place for himself and his children in the heavenly kingdom, Le Ber’s affections had by no means become alienated from the affairs of this world. It was conjectured by those who knew him best that a sincere reverence for rank was one of his prominent traits. As his daughter’s aspirations after saintliness conferred upon him an especial distinction with the ecclesiastical authorities, so the Marquise’s sojourn beneath his roof bestowed upon his home a stamp of fashion and exclusiveness to which he otherwise would have had no pretension. A patent of nobility had, some time before, been conferred upon his brother-in-law, Charles le Moyne, and it was bitter to the ambitious man that his own sons should be debarred from wearing the sword with which his nephews swaggered so gallantly.
Though born and bred in the focus of a most gorgeous civilization, reared like a princess amidst obsequious troops of vassals and retainers, having enjoyed a life of wit and splendor amidst a brilliant and dazzling society, and then suddenly, in her downfall, banished away to the ends of the earth, surrounded by perils and privations, Madame de Monesthrol wasted no time in vain regrets. Like many another of her class, she displayed a marvellous power of accommodating herself to circumstances and extracting pleasure and profit from them. In her former life she had loved, rejoiced and suffered with her whole heart; now there was nothing for it but to make acquaintance with the practical and inexorable. She coolly counted chances and weighed consequences, and then, fully and freely, accepted the situation and its conditions. A submissive spirit might be patient, a strong will could supply resolution; here existed an elastic mind, a willingness to seek comfort, a power of turning readily from evil to good, and of finding enjoyment in many simple occupations which carried her away from the memory of her sorrows.
In her fantastic French desire to act the new role to perfection she would fain have adapted herself more quickly than was possible to her new surroundings. She saw no reason why, with all the ease of a woman of the world and the loftiness of a great lady, she should not sell in the shop or undertake a share of the superintendence of the domestic affairs, as Le Ber’s wife had done. She was promptly called from these delusions by Demoiselle[[3]] Le Ber’s bewildered consternation, Nanon’s shrill clamor, and more than all by the shocked and genuine distress of the trader himself.
“I am well aware, Madam la Marquise, that the home I have been able to offer is entirely unworthy your dignity. Have I failed in showing my appreciation of the honor your coming has conferred upon me that you should treat me thus?” the host reproached his guest.
“Even a dog can die,” the lady replied with spirit. “I am not of puddle blood—I, Adrienne Monesthrol—that I should perish at the first breath of adversity. Still, my old and good friend, to whom I owe so much”—Madame laid her white jewelled hand upon the merchant’s arm, and when she softened there was something wonderfully winning in this woman’s proud gentleness—“if it pleases you best that I should remain seated like an image I must even yield, and give up all hope of being useful.”
Then Le Ber kissed the gracious hand respectfully, for by him the French lady was encircled with a halo of reverence.
Perceiving that her well-intentioned efforts had failed, Madame, philosophically reviewing all the facts of the case, graciously permitted herself to remain upon the pedestal where the loyalty of her devoted friend had placed her.
In New France the appendages of an old-established civilization flourished side by side with the rough usages of an almost unbroken wilderness. Amidst the solid comforts of this bourgeois home, the Marquise established a little court over which she reigned by sheer majesty, ruling without effort or design, governing because it was her nature so to do.
Madame’s bedroom, which was the great chamber of reception, was always warm and heavily perfumed. In the upper part the bed was placed, raised above the rest of the room by a few steps, and further divided from it by a row of slight low pillars. The bed was an immense four-poster, seven feet each way, with gauze and silk curtains, and a blue satin counterpane embroidered with convolvulus and carnations. The space beside the bed, called the ruelle, was furnished sumptuously with pictures, statuettes, vases, gilded mirrors, fancy tables of buhl and ormolu, chairs and stools of various kinds covered with satin and destined to accommodate Madame’s guests with wise adaptation to the rank and pretensions of each.
Before the window on a stand were pots of flowers, and in small tubs bloomed orange trees, above which hung canaries in gilt cages. There were strips of Persian carpets on the floor; mirrors gleamed in filigree frames; a harpsichord stood in the corner. The chairs were of gilt ebony with cushions in tambour. Opposite Madame’s chair hung the portrait of a young man, in lace cravat and half armor, the cordon bleu of the Order of St. Louis worn conspicuously across his velvet coat. The face was gay, reckless, handsome; and before the picture hung a veil of silken gauze. Most people supposed this to be the portrait of the Marquise’s husband; Diane knew that it was that of the Marquis’ younger brother, her own father, the Chevalier Raoul Anatole de Monesthrol, who had been killed while fighting with the King’s armies in Flanders. On the 12th of May every year the Marquise spent the day in fasting and prayer. Though the subject was never alluded to, nor explanations ever offered, the young girl understood that this custom was in some way connected with her father’s death.