I felt confused and anxious while I was driven through the streets; and amid the clatter of wooden shoes and the cries of dealers in nicotina, perfumed wash-balls, walking canes, and bonbons, I thought only of the loss of the miniature, and its probable results if it fell into evil hands. Mademoiselle de l'Orme's residence was in the Rue St. Jacques, and adjoined an old house which was one of the sights of Paris, for therein Alexander II. of Scotland, when on a visit to Queen Blanche, the mother of Louis IX., visited St. Dominique, the confessor, in 1219, so it was old enough, you may be assured.
As I rang the bell at the gate of the Hôtel de l'Orme—for so was her handsome mansion styled—and gazed upward at its row of illuminated windows, I felt a glow of interest at the anticipation of being tête-à-tête with this remarkable woman, who had become so celebrated throughout all France for her gallantries, the number of her lovers, the lustre of her beauty, and the reckless manner in which she broke through and trampled under her pretty foot all the rules by which the women of the Christian world have hitherto been guided.
I gave my name to a porter in the court; he, in turn, gave it to a valet in the vestibule, who repeated to a third on the staircase, and in due time I was ushered into a magnificent saloon, where waxlights, perfume, persons in glittering dresses, gorgeous furniture, and rich hangings appeared on all sides, like a brilliant scene at the Opera Française, and forming a strange contrast to those which I had seen for some time past—the trenches of La Mothe and the tents of Hepburn's army.
On three sides of this saloon, the tapestry of silk represented an allegory of Fame proclaiming by trumpet-sound the happiness of France; while Justice, sword in hand, drove away whole legions of Sedition, Discord, and Envy. The fourth side portrayed the proudest scene in the military history of 'Scotland's ancient enemies'—the brave Black Prince waiting at supper upon the King of France, on the same day he had conquered and taken him prisoner. The furniture was all of walnut (each piece a miracle of carving), or of buhl, and beautifully inlaid with shell and mother-of-pearl. Statues, bronzes, pictures, and countless objects of virtù and bijouterie were strewed around the tables of this long saloon, the carpets of which were of the softest Persian manufacture. As I perceived all these details at a glance, a gentleman, clad almost entirely in blue velvet and cloth of silver, started forward from amid the splendid group that were lounging around the low fauteuil, on which Marion de l'Orme was seated like a princess. He was my new acquaintance, M. de Brissac, then her most favoured lover; and, taking me by the hand, he at once presented me as 'a gentleman of the Guard, just arrived from the camp of the Chevalier Hepburn.' She received me with the most enchanting grace; and, giving me her perfumed hand to kiss, placed the six billets in a casket, to be read or burned when she was more at leisure.
She made me sit beside her on the fauteuil, for she had a hundred questions to ask—about the charge at Bitche; the storming of La Mothe; who were killed, who were wounded, and who had escaped; and whether I thought the ladies of Lorraine as charming as those of Paris. Then, in her inquiries, she strung together the names of counts, marquises, and chevaliers, captains, lieutenants, and musketeers, without giving me time to reply; and among the names of her friends she enumerated nearly all the cuirassiers of the Garde du Corps Ecossais. The brilliance of her manner, her wit and vivacity, dazzled and charmed, while it silenced and at times almost stunned me.
Her face was perfect in feature and regal in contour; her eyes were dark, but full of light, and a hundred varying expressions passed through them; her teeth and lips were as those of a child; her jet-black hair was gathered in braids and folds, which displayed to perfection the form and pure whiteness of her temples, her slender neck, and little ears, from each of which hung a diamond pendant worth six thousand francs, the gift, as I was afterwards informed, of the young marquis, our captain. She was attired in rose-coloured satin, trimmed with four flounces of black lace; her long peaked stomacher was golden cloth; her necklace, bracelets, rings, and the jewels among her hair, were sparkling with diamonds, which enhanced the splendour and the delicacy of her beauty.
The passionate light that filled the eyes of this dangerous woman made my heart flutter when she smiled on me, and caused me to dream of the joy of being loved by her as she twice gave me her hand to kiss—the loveliest hand in Paris.
Marion de l'Orme was then in her twenty-fourth year, having been born at Chalons sur Marne, in Champagne. Her father was a gentleman of property, who could have given her about sixty thousand francs as a marriage portion; but she preferred a life of gallantry and freedom, such as the reigns of Henry IV. and his successors had made fashionable, and thus she wickedly despised a reputable settlement.
Lovers taught her soon—too soon—that she was beautiful, that she was witty, and that there was a divine grace in all she did. She sang well, excelled in the guitar, and was wont to admit that she had loved passionately—at least while the love lasted—eight or nine consecutive lovers. The first was Des Barreaux, the next was Rouville, of whom she soon wearied, as he was not handsome enough; but the poor fellow fought a duel about her with his successor, La Ferte Senecterre, and left this valley of tears with three feet of a rapier in his body. Then came Miossens, to whom she took a fancy as he caracoled his horse along the Boulevardes, and to whom she bluntly sent a little pink note, inviting him to come and sup with her. Then followed Arnauld, the unfortunate Cinq Mars, who was beheaded by Richelieu; M. de Chatillon; the Marquis de Gordon, who was forgotten as soon as our drums died away on the road to Lorraine; and lastly, my new friend, M. de Brissac, whom I should have found little difficulty in supplanting had I been so disposed. Cardinal Richelieu himself was among her lovers. He gave her a cane worth six hundred francs, and she used to visit his Eminence dressed as a page; for her whims were ever rash, fantastic, and unaccountable.
Love excepted, Marion had no frailty, and she had many virtues. She chatted away of her past amours with a coolness which surprised me. Perceiving that M. de Brissac was admiring Cupid and Psyche, a beautiful group in bronze—