“We shall see, madame!” said the lady, between her small white teeth, under the sweet, calm face, and crossing herself as she passed a crucifix in the street. “We shall see! A lettre de cachet is a very compromising billet-doux, but it may be sent to a lady quite as appropriately as a gentleman. That reminds me! Business first—pleasure afterwards; gratitude to-day—vengeance to-night. I will preserve that brave Musketeer, if it costs me my rank and my reputation. Oh! if men were all prompt, generous, honourable, like him, how differently we poor women should behave; I wonder if we should be much better or much worse?”
The maid walking at her side thought she was repeating an “Ave,” and appreciating the temptations of her mistress, greatly admired so edifying a display of piety under difficulties.
Madame de Parabére was perfectly right in believing she would have no opportunity for conversation with the Regent till they met at the opera. The whole of that prince’s morning was employed in struggling with the drowsy fiend who on a sensualist’s couch represents sleep, and is such a hideous mockery of its original. At these hours the tendency to apoplexy, which the Duke strengthened and pampered by indulgence, displayed itself in alarming colours, and none of his attendants could have been surprised when, a few years later, the destroyer swooped down and carried off his prey at a stroke. It took him many an hour of heavy, unhealthy, and disturbed slumber to regain sufficient clearness of mind for the duties of the day, but once in exercise, his intellect, which was doubtless above mediocrity, soon reasserted itself, and the Prince, shaved, bathed, dressed, and seated over a pile of papers in his cabinet, seemed quite capable of grasping the political helm, and guiding with a steady hand the destinies of France. But it was only by a strong mental effort he thus overcame the effects of his pernicious habits; such an effort as, when often repeated, saps the vital energies beyond the power of nature to restore them, and the wasting effects of which are best conveyed by the familiar expression—“burning the candle at both ends.”
When business was concluded, and the Regent, leaving his cabinet, entered the adjoining dressing-room to prepare for amusement, he was generally much fatigued, but in excellent spirits. A thorough Bourbon, he could work if it was necessary, but his native element was play. When he shut up his portfolio the virtual King of France felt like a boy out of school.
It was in such a mood the Abbé Malletort found him the afternoon succeeding his necromantic visit to the cavern. The valets were dismissed, the wardrobe stood open, various suits of clothes hung on chairs or lay scattered about the floor, yet it seemed the visitor was expected; for no sooner did he enter than the door was locked, and his Highness, taking him by the shoulders, accosted him with a rough, good-humoured welcome.
“True to time,” said he, in a boisterous yet somewhat nervous tone. “True and punctual as a tailor, a confessor, and a creditor should be!—since for me, little Abbé, you combine these several characters in one! A tailor, for you must dress me; a confessor, for you know most of my sins already, and I have no desire to conceal from you the remainder; and a creditor, because I owe you a heavy debt of gratitude which you need not fear I shall forget to pay!”
“Tailor and confessor as much as your Highness pleases,” answered the Abbé, “but creditor, no! I had rather possess the free assurance of the Regent’s good-will than his name to a blank assignment on the Bank of France! It is my pride and my pleasure to be at your service, and only when the Duke shall propose a scheme to his own manifest disadvantage will the Abbé find courage to expostulate or refuse.”
“I can trust you, I believe,” answered the Regent, “none the less, my friend, that your interests and mine are identical. If d’Orleans were at Dourlens, and Du Maine at the Tuileries, it is just possible Malletort might find himself at Vincennes. What say you, my adventurous Abbé? Such an alerte would call every man to his post! No; where I gain an inch I pull you up a metre; but in return, if I make a false step in the entresol, you tumble down two pair of stairs and break your neck in the street! Yes—I think I can trust you.”
Malletort laughed pleasantly. “Your Highness’s ethics are like my own,” said he. “There is no tie so close as self-interest, and it is certainly none the looser when accompanied by inclination. I trust the events of to-night will render it yet more binding on us both.”
“Have you prepared everything?” asked the Regent, with anxiety. “The slightest omission might be not only inconvenient, but dangerous.”