"I fear not. There fly rumors—that his Majesty grows hourly worse. If this continues, the army will be in revolt, the women will be mobbed, and—Quesnay may be permitted to prolong the reign."
"Madame is playing a losing game. She is daring France. I am going to seek Richelieu, if he is accessible. This suspense cannot continue."
"I return to Saxe and the council."
"Au revoir, then."
"Au revoir! I wish you fortune with du Plessis. You are one of the few who can risk his anger."
The two marshals uncovered ceremoniously. Jules de Coigny passed into the Château de Metz, and Belle-Isle continued on his way to the camp.
It was August in the same year of 1744, and the heart of France, her army, her Court, her King, and—her Châteauroux, was at Metz, in Alsace, a resting-place sought after Dettingen and the long summer campaign. And here at Metz, whence all had thought to depart a week before for Nancy, on the road to Strasbourg, Louis XV. fell ill. That had been upon the 8th day of the month. Now, on the 14th, slow-gathering consternation was spreading through city, Court, and camp, though, since the morning of his seizure, not a single soul save Mme. de Châteauroux, her sister Mme. de Lauraguais, their personal servants, and Louis Armand de Richelieu had seen the King. Dim rumors that the illness was feigned at first circulated through the château. Then, latterly, more vivid and more startling theories, originating none knew where, but spreading with the conviction of truth, voiced the insistence that Louis was ill, worse than any one knew, and that the favorite, coercing Richelieu into her service, desperate with the fear of dismissal from Court when his Majesty's condition came to be discovered, was at Louis' side, keeping at bay the army, the Court, and the kingdom. Marie Leczinska and her dauphin were still at Versailles, praying and fasting, along with the Jesuit fathers and the wearied dames du palais, who, in the absence of la Châteauroux, had not a single crumb of gossip with which to comfort their souls till the return of the Court.
Marshal Coigny, much disturbed by his short conversation with Belle-Isle, yet anxious for confirmation of his fears before taking any possible rash steps, hurried into the morning-room of the château, temporary residence of Majesty. The place was crowded with familiar faces, mostly men, for the women who took part in the campaign had learned that their proper place in it was background. Two or three, however, had been drawn hither from curiosity. Among them was a certain pretty Mme. Lenormand d'Etioles, who, to the displeasure of la Châteauroux, had, for the past year, figured often in royal hunts, and, latterly, played a very conspicuous part in certain thanksgiving services at Lille after the first siege. So far as it could be surmised she had never been addressed by the King, but she was well enough known at Court to obtain bows from most of the men and one or two of the women. This morning she remained beside her husband at one side of the room, watching the throng that eddied about the young Duc de Chartres, who, as son of the pious d'Orléans, was at this time sole representative of the blood in Metz, and, consequently, was vested with a power which made him of the highest consequence. He alone, of all these nobles and courtiers, had the right to proceed to extreme measures, and force an entrance to the royal apartments when such were closed to the world. He might also, if he dared, demand of Majesty's self, in the face of a created Duchess, his wife's friend, whether such Duchess alone were Majesty's will and pleasure. But the man who did this, though he were of King's blood, must have grave reason ere he should so risk the royal anger.
As d'Orléans' son perceived, from the midst of the throng of courtiers, the openly curious anxiety with which he was regarded on all sides, the expression of care and responsibility in his youthful face deepened. Looking about him uneasily, while he talked, he perceived that de Coigny had entered the room and was coming towards him with rapid steps and preoccupied manner.
"What news of his Majesty's condition?" asked the marshal, abruptly and aloud, with a directness that startled the room.