The House of de Mailly

by Margaret Horton Potter

"Deborah, what are you doing?" came Claude's clear, sharp voice.

"Claude—help me!—I must pass that door. I must—I will pass that door! Help me!"

Claude gazed at his wife as though she had gone demented; and Antoinette, also astounded, stepped forward. "Pardon, madame, but his Majesty is in that room, together with the doctors, Mme. de Flavacourt, and Père Ségand. Monsieur le Duc had orders to allow none to pass to-night."

This explanation had apparently no effect upon Mme. de Mailly. For a bare instant she turned to look at the girl, and then shook her head impatiently. "I tell you I can save the life of Mme. de Châteauroux. I am the only person who can do so, for only I—"

Suddenly she stopped. The door opened from the inside. Richelieu straightened himself and stepped forward, as out of the bedroom came a man, tall and stoutish, in square wig and loose black suit which made him appear old. This was Quesnay. Closing the door behind him, he stood looking in some astonishment at the new-comers. Presently recognizing Claude, however, he bowed slightly. Claude returned the salute; and no one stirred as the doctor crossed the room and flung himself upon a chair with the manner of one who has made up his mind on an important point. It was Richelieu, who, after a doubtful glance at Deborah, asked, gently: "She is—worse?"

Quesnay hesitated. Then, with a shrug, he replied, gruffly: "She's lost. I say so. She's lost. That fool Falconet—would continue his insane bleedings and cuppings. He no more knows her sickness than I do. Let her rest in peace now, say I—till the end."

Despite his abrupt phrases, there was a good deal of feeling in Quesnay's voice; for the Duchess had been his friend. He now turned his back on the little party, and strode over to one of the windows, where he stood looking into the black gulf of the Court of Marble, below. So for many minutes no one within the room spoke; no one moved. The silence was finally broken by the reopening of the bedroom door. This time it was Louis of France who left the bedroom of the dying woman. He entered the boudoir with head bent, brows knitted, one hand nervously brushing his forehead, the other hanging limp at his side; and no one had ever before beheld the expression that now rested upon his face. To Deborah he looked in some way more kingly; to the rest he was more human, older, more cognizant than before of the deep under-life of things and of people. As for him, if he beheld the new-comers in the room, he evinced no surprise at their presence, nor had he taken any notice of the reverent lowering of heads as he came among them.

"Richelieu, go to the little apartments and bring back with you Bachelier, Maurepas, and Marc Antoine d'Argenson. Speak to no others if you can possibly avoid it. If forced, you will say that the Duchess of Châteauroux is not in the palace."

Richelieu bowed low. Nothing could have expressed his secret terror at leaving that room, which contained Deborah de Mailly and the King, together—with none to prevent her speaking if she would. Nevertheless, he departed on his errand without protest. After the exit Louis seated himself in the chair that Quesnay had left, his head bowed on his hands, his attitude precluding any idea of speech on the part of any one present. Thus the four—Quesnay, Claude, Antoinette Crescot, and Deborah—stood there for ten long minutes about their master, like him waiting for Richelieu's return.

When the Duke re-entered the apartment, Bachelier was alone with him. Maurepas and d'Argenson, neither of them dressed, were to follow presently. On seeing his valet, the King beckoned the little man to his side, whispered to him inaudibly for several seconds, and then dismissed him on some errand. Just without, in the antechamber, Bachelier encountered the two ministers. There was no speech between them, but looks, in a Court, are capable of astonishing development. When Maurepas and d'Argenson appeared in the Persian boudoir they were prepared for many things. Neither made any sign at sight of Claude and Deborah. The King, bowed and deeply troubled, was before them, in his chair. After the salute there was a short silence, which Louis, with an effort, broke: