Why had not Mademoiselle de Lafayette married? was the general question which passed round the circle.
“Because she has found no one worthy of her,” was the reply of her friend and cousin, the Duchesse de Sennécy.
After the new maid of honour had made her curtsey to the Queen, who received her very graciously, the King (who had as usual placed himself almost out of sight, near the door, in order to ensure a safe retreat if needful) emerged, and timidly addressed her.
Since the scene at the monastery of the Val de Grâce, and the discovery of Mademoiselle de Hautefort’s treachery, Louis had never once appeared at the Queen’s lever until this morning. At the few words of compliment he found courage to say to her, Louise blushed and curtsied, but made no reply.
The next day the King was again present at her Majesty’s lever. He did not speak, but his eyes never for an instant left the new maid of honour.
The Court was at this time greatly agitated by political events. The Spaniards were making the most alarming progress in France; they had penetrated in the north as far as Corbie, in Picardy; in the south they were overrunning Provence. Troops and money were both wanting. The position of the ministry was so critical that even Richelieu was at fault. Louis, roused from his habitual apathy, suddenly remembered that he was the son of a great warrior, and electrified the Council of State by announcing that he intended at once to take the field in person. A resolve so contrary to his usual habits excited great discussion and general interest.
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The Saloon of Saint-Louis, at Fontainebleau, opens from the royal guard-room. It is a noble apartment, divided into a card-room and a with-drawing, or, as we say, drawing-room. The decorations are the same as those in the Gallery of Francis I.; the walls, painted in fresco after designs by Primaticcio, are divided by sculptured figures, in high relief, entwined by wreaths of flowers, fruit, and foliage. The ceiling is blue, sown with golden stars. Lights blaze from the chandeliers disposed on marble tables and in the corners of the room, and display the artistic beauty of the various paintings and frescoes that cover the walls.
The Queen is playing cards with the Bishop of Limoges. The Court groups itself about the double rooms, and at the other card-tables. Near the Queen are her favourites of the hour, the Principesse di Gonzaga and di Mantua; the Duchesse de Sennécy is in attendance. The King is seated on a settee in the darkest and most distant corner. Anne dares not now treat him either with impertinence or hauteur. If she cannot bring herself actually to fear him, she knows that he is capable of revenge. She has learnt, however, both to fear and to dread his minister, Richelieu, under whose insolent dominion Louis’s life is passed. Madame de Chevreuse is no longer at hand to tempt her into rebellion, and she has learnt to submit quietly, if not contentedly, to her lot. She has perceived the impression made upon the King by her new maid of honour, and looks on amused and indifferent. Of the absolute goodness and perfect rectitude of Louise de Lafayette, no one, and certainly not the Queen, could entertain a doubt.
As she pushes the cards towards the Bishop of Limoges to deal for her, which he does after making her a low bow, she turns round, the better to observe his Majesty. He has moved from the settee, and is now seated in earnest conversation with Mademoiselle de Lafayette. A sneer gathers about the corners of her rosy mouth, and her eyes dwell upon him for an instant with an expression of intense contempt; then she shrugs her snowy shoulders, leans back in her chair, takes up the cards that lie before her, and rapidly sorts them. The conversation between Louis and Mademoiselle de Lafayette is low and earnest. His naturally dismal face expresses more lively interest, and his lack-lustre eyes are more animated than they have been for years. As to the maid of honour, she listens to him with every faculty of her being, and hangs upon his words as though, to her at least, they are inspired.