It was almost the first emotion that he had ever seen her display, and his heart was warm as he took her tenderly into his arms again, whispering such words as only lovers know. Five minutes later Deborah crept away to her room happier than she had been before upon the soil of France; and not even the somewhat terrifying stiffness of madame's maid, nor the loneliness of this strange room, had power to banish the memory of her husband's good-night.
The four succeeding days passed both rapidly and slowly. From late morning till late night Deborah's hours were filled. She and Claude were to remain at the Hôtel de Mailly till the return of the King, after which they would take an apartment in Versailles. For the purpose of selecting one, they went together to the little city on Thursday. In the Rue Anjou, near the pièce des Suisses, they discovered a very pretty abode in the second floor of a house—rooms once occupied by the Chevalier de Rohan, of duelistic fame, furnished and hung in perfect taste, with precisely the number of rooms desired. Then Deborah went to see the monstrous, silent palace and park; after which she and Claude dined together at a café in the open air, quite à la bourgeois, somewhat to the unspoken apprehension of Claude, who was not pleased with the unconventional affair, which, however, unduly delighted his wife. They returned to Paris in the early evening by coach, well satisfied with the day. To Deborah's consternation, Claude next engaged a maid for her, a woman whom she was supposed to command at will, who was to dress and undress her, arrange her coiffure in the absence of the regular hair-dresser, care for her wardrobe, and conduct madame's affairs of the heart with discretion. To the little Countess's great delight, however, her first person in this line left her service after three days, for the reason that Mme. de Mailly seemed too devoted to monsieur the husband, and, in consequence, there were no chances for fees of secrecy such as she was accustomed to count upon as among her perquisites of office. By the time of their removal to Versailles, another attendant had been found who pleased her mistress better. Julie was lively, young, rather pretty, and not long from the provinces. If her modes for hair and panniers were not so Parisian as those of her predecessor, at least she and young Mme. de Mailly took a fancy to each other from the first, and Deborah was more than content. Meantime Claude had happily discovered and re-engaged his former valet, and thus, with the addition of a chef and scullion and two lackeys, their little ménage would be complete. Before all these matters were arranged, however, the Marquise de Mailly-Nesle, who had taken an unaccountable fancy to Claude's wife, accompanied Deborah to a milliner, to whom was intrusted the task of preparing a wardrobe for the Countess. Deborah watched the selections with delight and a secret consternation. Could Claude afford such things, and such an infinite variety of them? Finally, unable to hold her peace about the matter, she drew the Marquise one side, and stammered out the question of prices with pretty embarrassment.
"Mon Dieu! child, why should I ask prices? If the bill is reasonable, be assured that Claude will pay. If it is too large—pouf!—he will refuse to look at it! That is all. Do not be alarmed."
Deborah, surprised and disturbed, felt that she must stop proceedings at once, for the Maryland school of economy had been strict. But a shimmering blue satin, with cloth of silver for petticoat, and ruffles of Venice point, was now under consideration. Blue was her own color. She had never worn satin in her life—and dearly she loved its enticing swish. Why, unless Claude forbade, should she refuse it? And Claude did not forbid. When she confessed her doubts during their anteroom conference that evening, he laughed at her, cried that she should live in blue satin if she chose, and asked what she was to wear on the morrow at the royal procession.
"Oh—it is something that madame got at once—white silk brocaded with pink flowers, and a petticoat with lace. And I am to have a lace cap with pink ribbons."
"Charming—and good-night. Sleep late to-morrow, in preparation."
Upon this Saturday, the 13th of November, Paris did not wake up until afternoon. By two o'clock, however, St. Antoine had left its domicile and was dispersing itself in unkempt groups along those streets which, as it had been posted, his Majesty would ride through in his triumphant home-coming, on his way to the Tuileries. Marie Leczinska and the Dauphin spent the morning in prayer, and were off together, after a hurried dinner, to join their lord at the southeastern barrier. On the previous day Louis had been at Meaux, but left that town in the afternoon, and spent the night at no great distance from Paris. To tell the truth, he was not too well pleased at the information that his metropolis was desirous of giving him a heroic welcome. Certainly his title of bien-aimé was anything but his own choice. Nothing bored him so thoroughly as affection taken in the abstract. All through his early life he seemed to be unfortunate in having about him people to whom he was totally indifferent, yet who persisted in blindly worshipping him. In the case of his wife, it had not always been so. As a boy he had been devoted to her. But for the Dauphin, with his Jesuitical manners and phrases for all occasions, his father had never pretended to care. The daughters were more amusing. This afternoon Louis would have been very well pleased to see them when her Majesty's coach came up with the royal staff, in the midst of which Louis sat on horseback. The Queen, after alighting, stood looking at her husband with wistful yearning; but young France, dropping on one knee in a dry spot in the road, cried out, with very good expression:
"Sire, regard me as the representative of that nation which, with tears of devotion and thanksgiving, greets its Father, its Hero, and its King!"
There was a little pause. Then Louis remarked, casually, "You will catch cold without your hat, child," after which he turned to one of his marshals with some remark upon the day.
How the Dauphin arose from his knee is not recorded.