The House of de Mailly

by Margaret Horton Potter

"And so, Anne," Richelieu said to her, in a low, menacing tone, "we keep our places here, you and I. If the King recovers, our power is unlimited."

"If he is worse?"—she looked.

"It is destiny. When we play for lives, we must risk them."

So madame stayed. She thought of that momentous little conversation now, as she sat watching the sunlight play over the drawn bed-curtain. She and her sister had removed from their rooms in the Abbaye St. Arnold beside the château, where they had lodged at first, and taken possession of the royal suite. Their own servants prepared the sick man's food, their own hands smoothed the hot pillow. They had shut the clamorous Court away, letting rumor fly as she would. During the first three days Louis, for the most of the time, sat bravely up, in satin lounging-robe, cap, and slippers. None could have striven more anxiously to distract and please him than the two favorites and the sister. Notwithstanding, upon the fourth day, Wednesday—now the day before yesterday—his body had mastered his will, and he did not rise. Since then time had not moved; eternity seemed settling down upon the trio of watchers. The King wanted no amusement now. He was perfectly content to lie, half sleeping, through the whole day, smiling faintly when madame brought his food, accepting a few mouthfuls with an effort, because they came from her fingers; otherwise unmoved, unspeaking, unthinking. Thursday was the same, ay, longer than ever; and as the three sat silent in the dusk, beside the open window, they had not much cared to talk. Only madame, with what composure she could gather, asked of Richelieu, who had for a moment that day seen de Gêvres:

"What are the people saying, good uncle?"

And Richelieu, nervously smoothing his knee, looked at her with grim significance. "We stake high," he said.

The Duchesse de Lauraguais gave a little cough.

Then silence fell again, while the lips of la Châteauroux closed more firmly, and a rarely seen light came into her eyes. Richelieu's expression, however, did not change. Was it possible that her courage in desperation was greater than his? No. It was this. Richelieu was not yet desperate. There was, for him, still one move that was not left to her. He would not necessarily be banished from Court if it came to a point of extreme unction and madame. But if the King of France were to expire here alone, with them, then Louis Armand du Plessis might, indeed, tremble for what happiness life held for him. He said nothing, however, yet. Twilight mingled with the dark. From many windows glimmered forth the city lights, and madame finally swallowed a cup of chocolate and sought her rest. Richelieu was left to watch alone, in the darkness, by the King.

Louis XV. slept, now and then restless with fever, but for the most part quietly. The Duke sat in his chair by the window, the sultry night air stealing in to him, not asleep, but thinking of many things, of much history known to him alone of Court, of camp, of street, and of the lives of real men. All men, beneath their masks of manners, are very real! What a little game these courtiers played! How lives were broken and intellects stunted for the sake of being, for one little hour, associated with that single man born, willy-nilly, to immortality in history! This very King, for whom he, Richelieu, was living a life envied and unenviable, what was he but a disagreeable fellow, handsome, rather sulky, either really or unaffectedly stupid, lazy, unutterably weary of himself and his business, with more of a taste for turning and cookery than for governing a kingdom or managing an army? After all, these Bourbons might have made an excellent line of workmen, all but Louis XIV., who would have been the ne'er-do-weel of them. Not one but had his taste and real talent for an honest profession. And how were France to-day, we wonder, had Louis XV. turned chef and Louis XVI. cultivated to its utmost his no mean ability for locks and clocks? The night grew hotter as it advanced, and rain was promised for the morrow.

At midnight, suddenly, the King woke, and demanded, in a voice much changed, something to drink. Richelieu hastily brought wine and water, not too cool. His Majesty drank thirstily, and lay back once more, but with eyes open, till the Duke had put away the glass. Then, with unusual directness, he said: