CHAPTER X
AFTERWARDS
Madeleine walked up the petite rue du Paon, in at the baker’s door, and upstairs. She still felt numbed, but knew that before her were the pains of returning circulation; Madame Troqueville heard her come in and ran out from the kitchen, full of smiles and questions. Madeleine told her in a calm voice that it had all been delightful, praised the agreeable manners of the Rambouillets, and described the treasures of the salle bleue. She repeated the quaint sayings of the child, and Madame Troqueville cried ‘Quel amour! Oh, Madeleine, I would like you to have just such another little daughter!’
Madeleine smiled wearily.
‘And what of Mademoiselle de Scu-tary?’ her mother asked rather nervously.
‘De Scudéry,’ corrected Madeleine, true to habit. ‘She was furiously spirituelle and very ... civil. I am a trifle tired.... I think I will away and rest,’ and she dragged herself wearily off to her own room. Madame Troqueville, who had watched her very unhappily, made as if she would follow her, but thought better of it.
When Madeleine got into her room, she sat down on her bed, and clasped her head. She could not, she would not think. Then, like a wave of ecstasy there swept over her little points she had noticed about Mademoiselle de Scudéry, but which had not at the time thrilled her in the slightest. Her teeth were rather long; she had a mole on her left cheek; she was not as grandly dressed as the others; the child had snubbed her; Montausier had been very attentive to her; she was a great celebrity; Madame de Rambouillet had teased her. This medley of recollections, each and all of them made her feel quite faint with pleasure, so desirable did they make her love appear. But then ... she had not spoken to her ... she had been humiliated before her.... Oh! it was not to be faced! Her teeth were rather long. Montausier had been attentive to her ... oh, how thrilling! And yet ... she, Madeleine had not even been introduced to her. The supernal powers had seemed to have a scrupulous regard for her wishes. They had actually arranged that the first meeting should be at the Hôtel de Rambouillet ... and she had not even been introduced to her! Could it be possible that the Virgin had played her a trick? Should she turn and rend in mad fury the whole Heavenly Host? No; that would be accepting defeat once for all, and that must not be, for the past as well as the future was malleable, and it was only by emotionally accepting it that a thing became a fact. This strange undercurrent of thought translated itself thus in her consciousness: God and the Virgin must be trusted; they had only disclosed a tiny bit of their design, what madness then, to turn against them, thus smashing perhaps their perfect scheme for her happiness! Or perhaps her own co-operation had not been adequate—she had perhaps not been instant enough in dancing—but still ... but still ... the visit to the Hôtel de Rambouillet was over, she had seen Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and was still not one inch nearer to her heart’s desire. She could not face it.
She came down to supper. Her father was silent and gloomy, shaking his head and twisting his lips. His visit to his lady had been a failure. Was there ... could there be ... some mystical connection? And there was Jacques still limping ... and he had given her that horrid bead trimming.... No, no, no ... these were insane, goblin ideas that must be crushed.
Her mother was trying hard to be cheerful, and Jacques kept looking at her anxiously. When supper was over she went up to her room, half hoping, half fearing that he would follow.
Shortly there was a scratch at the door (with great difficulty she had persuaded him to adopt the fashionable scratch—to knock was bourgeois).
He came in, and gave her a look with his bright eyes, at once compassionate and whimsical. She felt herself dully hoping that he would not ask why she was not wearing the bead trimming. He did not, but began to tell her of his day, spent mostly at the Palais and a tavern. But all the time he watched her; she listened languidly. ‘How went the fête galante?’ he asked, after a pause.