The Chevalier's daughter

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

Meantime affairs were not going well with my uncle. I was told nothing, but I gathered from things that I overheard and from hints dropped in my presence that he had lost the favor of his royal master in the first place by outstaying his leave in England, and though he had hoped to make his peace by the presentation of a new convert to the Catholic faith, the offering had not been altogether sufficient. Court favor is of all earthly things one of the most uncertain.

My uncle had been a friend of the unhappy Madame de Valliere, who, at this time under the name of Sister Louise de la Misericorde, was striving to expiate her errors by a life of more than ordinary austerity among the Carmelite nuns of Paris. He had had the imprudence to speak contemptuously of Madame de Montespan, and his remarks had been carried to the lady's ears by one of those tale-bearers who flourish at court. Of course madame became his enemy. She had great influence with the king, though not so much as Madame de Maintenon came to have afterward. My uncle's disgrace grew more and more apparent every day, and at last he received peremptory orders to retire to his château in Provence, where he held some sort of office under government. He was allowed, however, to remain in Paris for two or three weeks, to settle up his affairs there, which were, I imagine, in no little confusion.

My aunt was in despair. To be banished from court was to be cast out of heaven in her estimation. She hated the country, and went thither even for a few weeks with unwillingness. She wept and went into fits of the nerves, as she usually did under any disturbance of mind or body. The poor lady was really very ill for a few days, and as I was the only person who had the least control over her in her paroxysms, I had my hands full. However, she had an elastic constitution of mind and body, and she soon recovered, and began planning all sorts of amusements, one of which, I remember, was to be the refurnishing of the Château de Fayrolles from top to bottom. I was glad to see her diverted by anything, and I listened to all her schemes, and being ready with my pencil, was able to afford her pleasure by sketching designs for furniture, hangings, and the like, which even my uncle declared to be very clever.

One day, being left to myself while my aunt entertained a visitor, I began drawing from memory a sketch of my old home, the Tour d'Antin. I became so interested in my work as to take no note of the time, till I was surprised by the entrance of my uncle and Father Martien. I had not seen the latter gentleman for some weeks, nor was I at all glad to behold him now. My religion had become to me more and more an empty profession, and though I still went regularly to mass and confession, my attendance was the merest form. At mass and vespers, though I kept my book open, I thought of anything rather than the services, and as to my confessions, if I had repeated the Confiteor correctly, and then gone on in the orthodox devout whisper to say that I had become a Moslem and the fifteenth wife of the Grand Bashaw, good old Father Le Moyne would have been none the wiser, but would have given me absolution in his usual gentle, nasal sing-song. I had learned to love and respect the old man, for though indolent to a degree, he was kind and fatherly, and did not disgrace himself with wine or worse things, and it was with real dismay that I contemplated exchanging him for the sharp-sighted, cold Father Martien.

My uncle looked at the sketch and commended it, saying that it showed real talent. He then began asking me questions about it, sitting down with the drawing in his hand. At last—

"There is one thing, Vevette, which I have hesitated to ask you about, not wishing to revive painful memories; but the time has arrived when such an inquiry becomes necessary. Where did your father conceal his treasure?"

"His treasure!" I repeated. "I don't understand."

My uncle contracted his brows.

"Do not trifle with me," said he sternly. "I am well informed that my unhappy brother invested a great deal of the money which he acquired in one way and another in plate and jewels. What did he do with them? I know that he left them concealed somewhere about the estate; but where?"

"I do not know," I answered, with perfect truth; "I know that he and my cousin—" I could not bring myself to say Andrew—"hid away a part of what silver there was, but I never heard what they did with it. He sold a good deal, I know."