At Choisy all was formal, to suit the taste of its mistress. The corps de logis, a pavilion in one story, a mass of lofty windows, was flanked on either side by conservatories and orangeries which masked the offices. Within, the entire south front was occupied by a gallery, with frescoed ceiling and cornice; the walls covered with crimson satin, on which hung the family portraits of La Grande Mademoiselle. Each name was written under each portrait, so that all persons looking on them might read the lofty lineage of this granddaughter of Henry the Great. At one extremity of the gallery was a chapel, at the other a writing-cabinet. Here, the victories and conquests of Louis XIV., painted in miniature, by Van der Meulen, were arranged. These miniatures also were inscribed with names and dates. A likeness of his Majesty on horseback, when a youth, hung over the chimney-piece. Beyond the writing-cabinet was a billiard-room, as well as a suite of private apartments devoted to the use of the Princess herself. Without, broad terraces were balanced by flights of steps, statues, vases, and trophies; jets d'eau rose out of marble basins, and precisely arranged flowers and orange-trees adorned the walks. There was a park of a hundred acres, with woods on either hand, trimmed to an exact resemblance of each other. Choisy, like its mistress, was in perpetual costume de Cour; nothing but the river, towards which the gardens sloped, was as nature had made it. Not even La Grande Mademoiselle could prevent the soft summer breezes from rippling its silvery current, the sun from playing vagrant pranks upon its wavelets, or the water-lilies from growing in wild profusion under the shadow of its tree-shrouded bays.
Besides Choisy, Mademoiselle possessed the Palace of the Luxembourg, before-mentioned, the Castles of Eu, D'Aumale, De Thiers, Dombes, Chatellerault, and Saint-Fargeau, each surrounded by such vast estates, that no one except the well-known Marquis de Carrabas ever had the like.
Mademoiselle, although firmly convinced that the world was, in great measure, created for her particular enjoyment, was wonderfully exercised in her mind at the difficulty she experienced in securing that much-coveted game (for which she had hunted all her life), an emperor, or even a king. She, however, appeased her wounded vanity by the conviction that she must be considered too masculine in understanding to consort with any living sovereign. Whatever happened, this royal lady never by any possibility could blame herself.
About this time, a Gascon gentleman of the Caumont family, whose name has been already casually mentioned, began to make much noise at Court. He was Captain of the Royal Guards, whose service was the special care of his Majesty's person, and Field-Marshal, also Governor of Berry. Loaded with honours, he had dropped the undistinguished patronymic of Peguillem altogether, and was known as the Comte de Lauzun. The King, whose understanding was, as a matter of course, superior to every one, had said when he was first presented to him at the Comtesse de Soissons's, that "Lauzun possessed more wit and penetration than any man in France." This opinion was accepted as law. That Lauzun was, by reason of his Gascon blood, cunning, heartless, and mercenary, as well as audacious, insinuating, and brave, is only saying that he was what all Gascons (going up to Court to make their fortunes) were. But that he was above the ordinary hungry adventurer, the sequel will show. Holding Court trumps in his hand, he knew how to play them well. He was a little man, slight and well formed, with a dull, fair complexion, reddish hair, keen penetrating grey eyes, and a most insolent bearing. No one could call him handsome, no one could deny that he could be morose, vindictive, and cruel. He spoke sharp, hard words, affected a certain soldierly swagger, and was capable of being alike cringing and impertinent.
Mademoiselle was no longer young. The unsuccessful chase after an emperor had occupied a large portion of her life. She lived at Court, and was necessarily thrown much into the company of Lauzun, who affected an indifference towards her, a rough and ready manner that piqued her vanity. So she came gradually (no crowned head appearing in the matrimonial horizon, only relays of dukes and insignificant princes) to find Lauzun fascinating and original. The pleasures of Court palled upon her; she became pensive, even sentimental, and often retired to bowery Choisy to meditate on the chances and changes of life.
Finally she came to the conclusion that marriage alone would restore her spirits. But marriage without an emperor? It was a great come-down, certainly. Yet there are no laws but the laws of passion in the kingdom of love. Mademoiselle reasoned that her sublimity was so exalted she could raise any man to her own level. In a word, she discovered that all earthly bliss depended on her marriage with Monsieur de Lauzun.
Now Mademoiselle was, as we have seen, a very determined, even masculine, lady. She had pointed the guns of the Bastille against her cousin the King; she had all but led an army into the battlefield. Having come to a determination, she proceeded incontinently to carry it out. But she encountered uncontemplated difficulties. The crafty Lauzun, who read her like a book, became suddenly respectful and silent. As she approached, he receded. Mademoiselle was extremely embarrassed, and more violently in love than ever. This was precisely what Lauzun intended.
We are in the Queen's apartments at the Louvre, within a stately retiring-room. The walls are covered with white brocade, on which is a gold pattern. They are panelled by gilt scroll-work. On the carved ceiling, which is supported by pilasters, is painted Apollo ushering in the day. The furniture is of green damask; colossal chandeliers of crystal and gilt bronze are reflected in mirrors placed at either end. Over the mantelpiece, which is carved and richly gilt, hangs a portrait of the King.
Mademoiselle, attended by her lady of honour, enters about the time of the Queen's lever. She finds Lauzun in a corner talking with the Comtesse de Guiche. He takes no notice of her, though she gives a slight cough to attract his attention. She does not like it. Besides not saluting her, which he ought to have done, he seems quite to have thrown off his usual insouciance, and to find the conversation of the Comtesse de Guiche much too interesting. Mademoiselle retires into the recess of a window, and watches him.