When he had gone the Duchess ran up to Louise, who was now stitching at some embroidery to hide her blushes, and burst out laughing.
“You are merry, Duchess,” said the maid of honour, glad that anything should divert attention from herself.
“I am laughing, Louise, at the admirable presence of mind I have just shown. As you are only a débutante, I will explain what I mean for your special instruction. His Majesty does not exactly hate me, but something very like it. No love is lost between us. He dreads my making capital of all I see and hear to the Queen. He dreads my turning him into ridicule—which is so easy. Of all the persons about Court whom he would least have liked to have surprise him in the tender conversation he was holding with you, I am the one. He tried to reach the door. I saw my advantage, and pursued him. I knew he wanted to shake me off, so I seized the opportunity to ask a favour—of great importance to me. It is granted! Is not this clever? I am grateful, and will not repeat one word of this little adventure to her Majesty.”
Louise shook her head, and affected not to understand her. “You are altogether mistaken, Duchess. His Majesty simply honours me with such friendship as he might feel towards any loyal subject devoted to his interests. It is because the Court affects to despise him that I appear singular in estimating him at his true value; nothing else.”
“You are a prude,” exclaimed the Duchess, bluntly. “I hate affectation, especially of that kind.” Louise hung her head down, and played with some pearls with which the grey silk dress she wore was trimmed. “Besides, my little cousin, you must not sacrifice the interest of your friends, who have a right to look to you for favour and patronage.”
“Oh, Duchess, what a vile thought!” cried Louise; reddening. “Do you think I would make his Majesty’s friendship a matter of barter!”
“Oh, bah!” replied the Duchess, growing angry. “Louise, you are not so simple as you pretend. If you ask me the question, I reply, certainly your friends have a right to look to you—especially myself, who never let the Queen rest until she appointed you her maid of honour. She had almost made a vow never to fill up the place of her dear Mademoiselle de Hautefort.” Louise stared at the Duchess with a troubled look. Worldliness and meanness was a new and unpleasant experience—a fresh page in the history of the Court—that pained and revolted her.
“When the King returns,” continued Madame de Sennécy, not condescending to notice her disapprobation, “I shall expect you to give me all your confidence. You shall have excellent advice in return. If you follow it, in six months’ time you will revolutionise the Court, and banish Cardinal Richelieu. You will by that one act secure the King’s friendship and her Majesty’s favour. Eh, Louise? a brilliant position for a little provinciale like you! You must mind what you are about, or the Queen will grow jealous. I will take care, on the first opportunity, to assure her you are only acting in her interests.”
“Jealous of me! Impossible!” cried Louise. “Such a great Queen! so beautiful, so fascinating! Oh, Duchess, you are joking.”
“Nothing of the kind. I warn you not to imagine that there is any joking at Court, or you will find yourself mistaken. Now I shall leave you, Louise. Think over what I have said. Remember what you owe to those friends whose influence has placed you in your present high position.”