“I beg you to put on your dressing-gown,” said he so soon as he entered; “I have a word to say to you.”
“I felt quite sure,” writes Bassompierre, “that he intended to tell me that I had been seen leaving Antragues’s house, and determined to deny it positively. But, on the contrary, he continued: ‘What would you say if the Grand Equerry were preferred by Antragues to you and everyone, and she were in the habit of receiving him at night?’ I told him that I should decline to believe it, as neither he nor she had any inclination for the other. ‘Mon Dieu,’ said he, ‘how easy to deceive are lovers! I thought as you do; nevertheless, it is true that he went to her house last night, and did not leave until four o’clock this morning. He was seen to go in, and my valets de chambre themselves saw him come out, with so little care that he had not even troubled to wear a cloak without the cross of the Order, to disguise himself.’
“Thereupon, he called one of the valets, D’Urbal by name, and inquired whether he had not seen Monsieur le Grand leave Antragues’s house. ‘Yes, Monseigneur,’ the man answered, ‘as plainly as I see M. de Bassompierre there.’ I dared not look in the face of this valet, who had seen me that same morning leaving the house, and believed that it was a trick to make game of me; but, as I turned away, I perceived on a chair Monsieur le Grand’s cloak, which my valet had folded in such a way that the cross of the Order was visible, and ought to have been easily seen by M. de Guise, if he had not been so much occupied just then. I sat down upon it, fearing lest M. de Guise should catch sight of the cross, and pretending to be disconsolate as he was, I complained bitterly of the fickleness of Antragues. I refused to rise from my seat on the cloak, although M. de Guise invited me to go for a walk with him, until I had told my valet to take it away, when M. de Guise should be looking in another direction, and hide it in a wardrobe.”
So soon as the duke had taken his departure, Bassompierre wrote to his mistress to inform her of this new incident. Marie d’Entragues had the caustic spirit of her family, and it pleased her, in order to perpetuate this comedy of errors and avert suspicion from Bassompierre, to show herself exceedingly gracious to the Grand Equerry when she met him that afternoon, so that Bellegarde, who was not without vanity, was himself deceived, and began to think he had made an impression upon the lady. The consequence was that when, on the morrow, Guise, who could not keep silent, although he and Bassompierre had agreed to say nothing to the Grand Equerry about it, began to rally that gentleman upon his supposed bonne fortune, the latter defended himself so feebly, that all the jealousy of Guise and of the King, when he heard of the affair, was turned in his direction, and the real gallant was able to continue his nocturnal visits to the Rue de la Coutillière with but few precautions.
However, they had warned Madame d’Entragues to take better care of her daughter—it was certainly high time that she did—and one fine June morning, happening to awake very early, she drew aside the curtain of her bed, and saw, to her astonishment, that that of Marie, who slept in the same room, was empty. She rose at once and went into her wardrobe, where she found the door leading to the secret staircase, which was always kept locked, open.
“She began to scream,” relates Bassompierre, “and, at the sound of her voice, her daughter rose in haste and went to her. I, meanwhile, shut the door and took my departure, very troubled about what might come of this affair, which was that her mother chastised her, and caused the door of the room where we were that night to be broken open, so that she might enter, and was very amazed to find this apartment furnished with splendid furniture purchased from Zamet. Then all intercourse was broken off; but I made my peace with the mother through the intervention of Mlle. d’Asy, at whose house I saw her, when I asked her pardon so many times, coupled with the assurance that we had not gone beyond kissing, that she pretended to believe me. She went to Fontainebleau, and I went also, but I did not venture to speak to Antragues except secretly, because the King did not approve of it.[48] However, lovers are resourceful enough to find opportunities for occasional meetings.”
CHAPTER VIII
A strange adventure—Bassompierre sent as Ambassador Extraordinary to Lorraine to represent Henri IV at the marriage of the Duke of Bar and Margherita di Gonzaga—He returns to Paris and orders a gorgeous suit, which is to cost fourteen thousand crowns, for the baptism of the Dauphin and Madame Élisabeth, though he has only seven hundred in his purse—He wins enough at play to pay for it—Charles III of Lorraine writes to request his presence at the Estates of Lorraine—Henri IV refuses him permission to leave France, but he sets out notwithstanding this—He is arrested by the King’s orders at Meaux, but set at liberty on his promising to return to Court—He is allowed to leave for Lorraine a few days later—Affair of the Prince de Joinville and Madame de Moret.
About the middle of June of that year, Henri IV despatched Bassompierre as Ambassador Extraordinary to Lorraine, to represent him at the marriage of the Duke of Bar (whose first wife, Catherine de Bourbon, had died in 1604) to Margherita di Gonzaga, daughter of Vincenzo I, Duke of Mantua, and Eleanor de’ Medici, sister of the Queen; and, at the same time to request the Duchess of Mantua to become godmother to the dauphin, and the Duke of Lorraine godfather to Madame Élisabeth, eldest daughter of the King.