CHAPTER IX
THE CONSERVE CLOSET
Eight o’clock sounding from the Théatins near by brought me out of my revery. I reflected that it would be well to employ the two hours remaining in examining the gardens of the Palais Royal and the building itself, in so far as possible, on the same principle which makes the general attentively study the field upon which he is placing his forces. I therefore donned again the gray suit I had worn two evenings before, and buckling a sword to my belt, called Jacques, told him where I was going in case Richelieu should return and ask for me, and left the house. The weather had continued warm and a full moon silvered the city with a magic touch. It seemed to me that everybody was in the streets. The Quai Malaquest was crowded, even the steps leading down to the water and the broad landing-places being filled with people watching the boats dropping down the river or painfully making way against it.
The Hotel de Mailly, just opposite the Pont Royal, was a blaze of light, and I saw that some fête was in progress. It was with difficulty that I crossed the bridge, the press of carriages and throng of foot passengers being so great that they threatened at times to burst over the parapets. I finally won across and passed before the Tuileries, casting a glance at the entrance of Madame du Maine’s salon, which was brilliantly lighted as ever. Here, too, there was a great crowd, for the gardens of the Tuileries were a popular pleasure-ground, and in the evenings, even in severe weather, were thronged with people who had no opportunity during the day of drawing a breath of pure air. The Rue St. Vincent brought me out upon the Rue St. Honoré, the busiest street in the great city, and down this I turned, and soon reached the Palais Royal.
I was already familiar with that portion of the building which fronted on the Rue St. Honoré, extending in a line broken only by the great entrance from the Rue de Richelieu to the Bons Enfants, for I had passed it more than once in my wanderings of the week I was alone in Paris. It was in the gardens at the back and the buildings facing them that I was most concerned, for I knew that the apartments of the regent’s daughter must be somewhere in that part of the palace. I turned down the Rue de Richelieu and entered the gardens through one of the innumerable entrances which pierced the buildings along this street. The broad avenues of stately chestnuts were thronged with cavaliers and ladies, sumptuously dressed, many of them wearing masks, from which I judged that ours were not the only love-affairs afoot. But without pausing to more than glance at them, I approached the palace and examined it intently.
At the right was a low wall enclosing a square in which were several flower-beds, a fountain, and an avenue of trees. This I judged to be a private park. The buildings on either side of this small garden had blank walls, the windows having evidently been omitted to insure greater privacy. The row of buildings fronting it, however, was lofty and elegant, and built in a semi-detached fashion. I argued that I could hardly be wrong in supposing these to be the apartments of the members of the regent’s family.
Further examination confirmed this. To the left of the small garden was a lofty building which resembled nothing so much as a soldier’s barracks, and to the left of this again a high wall pierced by seven gate-ways gave entrance to the inner court, which I did not attempt to penetrate. Still farther to the left, and counterbalancing the space occupied by the garden at the right, was another row of tall and ugly buildings, which I decided were occupied by the servants of the palace and attendants of the regent.
Having completed this survey, I turned my attention to the gardens. A broad avenue of chestnuts extended along either side. Between these avenues were wide lawns where many flower-beds doubtless bloomed in summer, and in the middle of the garden was a circular pool in which was a fountain. Farther down the avenue and near the end of the gardens I came to the dryad fountain, which awakened in me so sweet a memory that I lingered by it.
“M. de Brancas appears to be thoughtful to-night,” said a low, clear voice at my elbow.
I turned with a start and saw a masked lady standing beside me, but the voice and the beating of my heart told me in an instant who she was.
“Ah, Mlle. Dacour,” I exclaimed, bowing before her, “shall I tell you of what I was thinking? It was of a night not long ago when on this very spot I met the lady whom I love and whom I am dying to serve.”