"By no means. But the mad haste with which he departed this morning portends extreme disease of mind. It is his fear that, after all, Claude may hold charms which he does not possess."
The Duchess raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Dear uncle," she said, "Louis is perfect. I adore him!"
"Ah, but you either make him doubt too strongly or you let him know it too well. You are too impassioned, Anne. I have always told you that. I assure you I should have been married twenty times, instead of only twice, had I not been able to have any woman for the asking."
La Châteauroux, perhaps unconsciously, sighed.
"Ah, madame, life is cruel to us all. But now, Anne, come, confide in me, as your good counsellor, certain particulars which the Court but guesses. What is the last madness of young de Mailly, and why did the King, after a petit lever and a vile breakfast, without admitting a single entry, order his sleigh an hour ago and set off for Versailles and de Berryer as if pursued by all the furies? All knowledge is yours, my Anne. Share it with me."
Mme. de Châteauroux rose from her chair and swept two or three times up and down the little room. Richelieu, examining her at his leisure, could discover no trace of agitation in her manner. Suddenly she stopped still and turned towards him.
"I do not deny that Claude is lost," she said, slowly. "But, if he is, is it not his fault alone? He is not ignorant of the ways of the Court. Why should he put himself, his career, in my hands? He will reproach me, without doubt. All will do that. Again I shall be called, as in the other case, without heart, without generosity, without love for my family. Mon Dieu!—you remember the scandal when my father left Versailles? Bah! Put me out of my position, uncle. Imagine me as a mere bourgeoise—of the people. Well, then? What woman but will become selfish, forgetful of all, for the man she loves? What are those others, who stand in her way, to her? And I, Monsieur le Duc, am a woman who loves. I love—I have the courage to love—the King."
A flicker passed through the eyes of the Duke as he bent over his embroidery. Was it amusement, or was it revelation? Could it be but a recollection of certain common Court memories that appertained to the "love" of Marie Anne de Mailly? Was it a fleeting remembrance of the brief and stormy careers of the two older sisters of this woman, both of whom had held her place, the one dying in it, pitifully enough, the other dismissed by the open command of the Marquise de la Tournelle, then just coming into power? Was it a vision of the angry helplessness of the old Marquis de Nesle, driven away to die in exile, because his pride of family was too great to sanction his daughters' dishonor? Was it a thought for a brother's hidden shame; of the merciless flouting of a helpless queen; of the dismissal of every minister who held at heart the best interests, not of the mistress, but of France; of the ruin of every courtier who had not paid his court to her; of the fate of the hapless d'Agenois; the impending ruin of young de Mailly? Was it, perhaps, a vision of prophecy concerning others to come, on whom disfavor should fall—Belleville, d'Argenson, Chartres, Maurepas, the Dauphin of France—nay, finally, after all, before all, himself, the great, the incomparable Richelieu, estranged from the King and the Court through the "love" of this woman? After all, the flutter of many thoughts takes but an instant, and madame had scarcely time for impatience when her good "uncle" was answering her with well-calculated lightness.
"You are right, Anne. And how drunk with the happiness of such love should our most gracious Majesty be! Perhaps he has flown away this morning that he may reflect in happy solitude on his great good-fortune."
Unfortunately, however, as Richelieu well knew, this was not precisely what his most gracious Majesty was engaged in this morning. Upon his unexpected arrival at Versailles at so early an hour, the King's first cry was for de Berryer. The attendant of whom he made demand performed his obeisance, looked nervously about him, and scurried away on a search. In the meantime Louis ascended to the deserted council-chamber off the Œil-de-Bœuf, threw off coat, hat, and gloves, and pounded on the bell for some one to remove his boots. A valet came, together with the unhappy announcement that M. de Berryer was in Paris—had been there, indeed, since yesterday morning—on important business. Louis fell into one of his silent rages, despatched a document commanding the instant return of the Chief of Police to his side, growled an order to serve his dinner to him alone where he was, and sank into his official chair at the great table in a fit of sulks which lasted him all day. De Berryer's arrival, at five o'clock in the afternoon, elicited the first gleam of satisfaction from his dull eyes. He ordered a fresh instalment of wine and cakes, closed the doors of the room, and motioned the minister into a chair across the table, where he could stare conveniently into the small, dark face.