Kaunitz bowed slightly, and as he raised his cold eye to the face of the countess, a faint smile flitted over his features, but it was followed by a sneer. Without acknowledging her presence by the smallest courtesy, he advanced to the empress, and the door closed upon Poland forever.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
MARIE ANTOINETTE AND COURT ETIQUETTE.
"Letters from France, your majesty," said Kaunitz, and the face of the empress grew bright as she recognized the handwriting of her daughter.
"The dauphiness is well?" said she. "Next to her dear self, I love to see her writing. Ah, I have grown very lonely since my little Antoinette has left me! One by one my children go; one dear face alone remains," continued she, pointing to the portrait of the emperor. Then looking at the letters in the hands of the prince, she said:
"Have you good news?"
"Yes, your majesty. The dauphiness is adored by the French people. They repeat her bon mots, write odes and madrigals to her beauty, and hang up her portrait in their houses. When she drives out in her caleche they impede its progress with their welcomes; and when she appears at the theatre, the prima donnas are forgotten. Half a year ago, when she made her entry into Paris and more than a hundred thousand people went out to meet her, the Duke de Brissac said, 'Madame, you have one hundred thousand lovers, and yet the dauphin will never be jealous of them.' [Footnote: "Memoirs of Madame de Campan," vol. i., p. 60.] The dear old Duke! He little knew what literal truth he spoke of the dauphin on that occasion."
"What do you mean?" asked the empress, hastily. "I know by the expression of your face that you have something unpleasant to tell."
"I mean to say the dauphin is not jealous, because he is the only man in
France who is not in love with the dauphiness."
The empress turned scarlet. "This is a serious charge which you presume to make against the dauphin," said she, frowning.