On either side of Mademoiselle de Monesthrol walked the Chevalier and the Sieur d’Ordieux. The first was a remarkably elegant and distinguished-looking man. The thin dark face set within its frame of powdered hair was somewhat languid and supercilious; the melancholy eyes were almost oriental in their depth and intensity of expression. The Marquis de Crisasi and his brother, the Chevalier, were Sicilian noblemen who had compromised themselves by taking the part of France against Spain. Their immense possessions were confiscated, and by a sudden turn of fortune’s wheel they had been precipitated from the highest pinnacle of prosperity down to bitter adversity. They had been sent out to Canada in command of French troops. The favor proved, in this case as in many others, a most unreliable dependence. The Marquis had been appointed Governor of Three Rivers, a poor post, where it was almost impossible to keep from starving. The Chevalier, who was regarded by his contemporaries as a model of every knightly virtue and accomplishment, neglected and forsaken by his friends at the Court, waited for those marks of royal favor which he was never to receive.
“For M. le Chevalier, his day is past,” decided Le Ber promptly; “those who are cast off by the Court have no future.”
But the Chevalier was one of Madame de Monesthrol’s warmest personal friends, valued by her for his high breeding and personal worth.
The Sieur d’Ordieux was a little man who, in the desire to increase his stature, used such high heels that he seemed to be walking upon stilts. He wore a long black wig, powdered and curled in front. He was always decked in finery like a woman, steeped in perfumes, glittering with jewelry and ornamented with fluttering ribbons. This youth was a common type of the men who strolled in the gardens of the Tuilleries or in the galleries of Versailles, pulling the strings which set the cardboard toys—the pantins—in motion; embroidering at women’s frames in women’s salons; gambling away body and soul at the receptions given by great Court ladies, or fighting bloody duels at Longchamps on account of frail Court beauties. Many of these men were driven by misfortune or their own reckless folly to the New World. When receiving their baptism of fire the high heads were dauntless and dignified; these reckless triflers, when brought into contact with real conditions and necessities, proved themselves equal to the occasion—the most graceless young spendthrifts often showing themselves to be brave soldiers and gallant gentlemen.
Just now the Sieur d’Ordieux certainly could not be considered interesting. His conversation related exclusively to his own interests and exploits—the Court, the injuries and indignities which his relatives had inflicted upon him, the grandeur of his expectations. The Chevalier walked in dignified silence. His doleful glances inspired Diane with a teasing wish to coax and torment. She was young, thirsting for some deep emotion, moved by swaying currents of feeling of whose origin she had formed no conception. Consequently her smiles encouraged the loquacious youth, whose vanity never at any time required stimulant.
“Miséricord!—but they are fools, these men,” soliloquized Nanon, who appreciated the humor of the situation. “This little turkey believes that the world is created for him and his brood to strut and crow in. That poor, good, jealous Chevalier has grown as thin as a nail, and makes such sighs. He is furiously displeased, that one, and he never guesses it is for the grocer’s son that our demoiselle plays the coquette. Comment! but it is inconceivable that the Sieur du Chesne perceives nothing.”
Du Chesne’s handsome young face was shaded by a large musquetaire hat of felt in which a freshly curled white plume waved gaily. He wore a new crimson coat, bordered with a gold band in a fashion called at that time à la bourgogne. Black silk stockings displayed the perfect symmetry of his limbs. It was a costume not unworthy a young man’s vanity. De Crisasi and d’Ordieux both wore swords which clanked at every step. The knowledge that his favorite son was without one cost Le Ber many a poignant pang.
Lydia walked demurely at du Chesne’s side. Her fresh face, tinged with excited color, stood out in bewildering contrast to the flaxen hair. The neat dress of dark camlet with its snowy frills and “pinners,” which had formed her Puritan costume, had been exchanged for an imitation of Diane’s dress. Mademoiselle de Monesthrol delighted in decking out her protégé in the best she had; nothing was too good to heighten the charm of the blonde beauty.
“This is likely to be an expensive whim,” Madame had remarked to Le Ber. “It would have been better, my friend, to have provided Diane with the little negro boy of whom you have so often spoken. The imp would have been less mischievous than this colorless English girl.”
Le Ber shook his head. Though a Frenchman he was a man of few words. Many critical issues had been confided to his judgment with advantageous results. Was it possible that a frail, silly girl should have power to thwart the plans which he had labored with a refinement of elaboration to perfect?