De Bernis dined at the Café de la Régence, a popular and fashionable resort; and thereafter, being now happily independent of the Lazariste and all such houses, betook himself to his rooms in the Rue des Bailleuls, not a great way from the Hôtel de Ville, and near the old Louvre. After adding, here, a few touches to his toilet, he took a chair to the Hôtel de Tours, where M. de Vauvenargues held his brilliant salons.
It was a night when nothing was happening at Versailles. The Queen, satisfied for the time with her success of the previous evening, played cavagnole with Hénault, and prepared for an extra hour in her oratory. His Majesty had claimed de Berryer for the night, and gone off on one of those strange expeditions in which he occasionally indulged. The great palace thus being desolate, all the world bethought itself of Paris, and, in the same instant, of the Hôtel de Tours and its host. The rooms there were crowded by the time de Bernis arrived. Every possible circle, from the Court to the philosophical, was in evidence. In the first room, where Monsieur was obliged to receive till a late hour, the lesser and most professional lights of society mingled in a heated throng. In the second salon, connected with the first by a small, yellow-hung ante-chamber, the gaming-tables were set, around which, talking or at play, were grouped the aristocratic dwellers of Versailles. Among these was Claude, sunk in piquet, and Deborah, conducted by Mme. de Jarnac, and hence claiming place with the bluest-blooded dames of the day; which fact, however, incredible as it seemed, failed to make her happy.
While the crowded and uncomfortable devotees were circling in slow masses through the larger apartments, there had been gradually collecting, in the yellow antechamber, a small group of gentlemen who, as it happened, had more at stake than gold. The tacit subject of their apparently superficial conversation was the decision of the next ruler of Versailles and the consequent determination of their own forthcoming influence in Court circles. Here, foremost of all, with most at stake, was Richelieu—Richelieu in violet satin and silver, with pearls, point de Bruxelles, and snuff-box. Next to him, upon a tabouret, apparently half asleep, indolent, smiling, was de Gêvres, with opposition to Richelieu coursing in fiery determination through every vein. Yonder sat d'Epernon and Penthièvre; while, completing the group, were Holbach, who had left Montesquieu at the point of interaction between body and soul, and François de Bernis, swelling with vanity at being seen in such company. All about this impenetrable band, during their conversation, incomprehensible to him who should catch but a syllable or two of it, wandered men and women of various degrees, curious, envious, anxious, one and all willing to have given half a fortune to have been able to join this party, which represented the dwellers in sacred, nearest places to royalty, to France's King. Possibly these men were unconscious of their greatness. Certainly they were too interested in themselves and their plans to enjoy, for the moment, the apparent adulation of outsiders. It was like a meeting of the Council of Ten held in the middle of St. Mark's Square of an afternoon.
Penthièvre had finished an anecdote of the far-off days of Gabrielle d'Estrées, containing a clever apologue, for which he was mentally applauded by the group.
"A clever woman!" murmured Richelieu, dreamily. "I cannot help thinking that if Sully had taken her part, instead of opposing her—"
"Marie de Médicis would have made less difficulty."
Richelieu stared at de Gêvres, who had interrupted somnolently, and remarked, with some insolence: "You miss the point, I think. Her Majesty is scarcely included in the affair."
"Noailles—Sully. Marie de Médicis—Fate," was the retort.
Richelieu shrugged. "It was too vague, Jacques."
"Let us return to the present. We shall find it less complicated," suggested Holbach, quietly.