The modes of approaching the minister were various, according to the rank and mission of the visiter. Strangers of humble quality, and others who, either through timidity or other cause, judged that they would not be permitted the entrée of the reception-room, or who dare not venture so far, loitered in the more distant saloons till the illustrious man, issuing forth to pay respects to majesty, gave opportunity for a moment’s audience or parley, or presentation of petition. The individuals of the privileged class who rejoiced in free access to the reception-chamber, watched narrowly each opening of the closet-door, that they might catch the eye of the prelate on his entry; whilst deeper anxiety was visible in the countenances of those who had requested audience through the agency of the gentleman-usher stationed at the door. The private interviews terminated, Monseigneur stepped forth, and tarried awhile in the reception-room, bestowing a bow on one, a nod to another, and making a third happy—and the envied of the chamber—by six or more significant words.
As all the executive power centred in Richelieu, it could not happen otherwise, but that suppliants and petitioners were numerous, and from all parts of the kingdom, and that among the number should be many of the fair sex. The politesse of the court permitted not such guests to be kept waiting exposed to the observation of the frequenters of the levee. The ladies were ushered into the secretary’s apartment, and that functionary having taken note of their object or petition, carried the same to Monseigneur to receive his commands thereon. If, as too often happened with one whose shoulders bore the burthen of the state, and who was appealed to at the same time by an envoy from Turkey claiming alliance, and by some poor widow or orphan from the Pyrenees with a tale of wrong—there was any delay in granting an interview, or giving a decision on the merits of the case, the fair suppliant was delegated to a waiting-room to attend the minister’s leisure.
Here sat, for many tedious hours on the former occasion, our heroine Marguerite—and as she now stated her name and object to the usher whose duty it was to conduct her to the secretary, she vainly endeavored to decipher a chance of better fortune in the impassive countenance of the official, as though it were possible his face would reflect a ray or emanation of the master’s will.
The waiting-room was again her sad lot—the cardinal was busily engaged with a German plenipotentiary—but the audience, as the secretary assured her, with a smile, could not last forever. It was but to ask for delay in the prosecution of the penal suit in the Cour Royale, that her father might prepare his defence, and prove the innocence of his intentions. It was not even necessary that she should see his eminence—one word to the procureur would oblige him to this act of justice—he was the servant of the king, and must obey the commands of the kingly authority in the person of Monseigneur.
So spoke the maiden hesitatingly, but with precision and clearness, yet the secretary—it was De Lionne, not the most heartless man of that age—could only do, as secretaries are wont on such occasions, smile, bow, and, as marking his sense of the justness of her claims to attention, conduct her himself to the door of the drear chamber.
Marguerite at length began to despair, and regret she had not taken the advice of Giraud. The sensation of utter weariness, of which De Pontis so often complained to his daughter in the narrow prison-abode, was now experienced by herself. Solitude was only broken by the occasional sound of footsteps—delusive hope!—they paused not at her door.
The shout of merry voices was heard from the court-yard in the interior of the palace. The gay, richly dressed pages of his eminence, whose turn of duty had terminated or not arrived, were amusing themselves in the youthful sports practised in the household of princes. Personal rencontres and duelling were such frequent occurrences, that proficiency in the use of the rapier was an indispensable accomplishment. Marguerite, venturing to the window, became sensibly amused and interested by the adroitness of a youth, who, challenging all his compeers successively with the foil, remained victor. Cap and mantle thrown aside, his attitude of defence displayed to advantage a tall symmetrical form—the long curling hair falling on the shoulders bespoke a very youthful age, but the compressed lip, and stern, fiery eye bent on the adversary, belonged to manhood.
Without an equal, he retired from the arena to become a spectator of the skill of companions more equally matched. Marguerite continued at the window, till of a sudden, being aware that she was herself the object of the youth’s regard, she withdrew in confusion.
There was not much to interest within the chamber. A map of France, and several battle-pieces, sadly out of perspective, helped to while away the time. Looking closely over Limousin, endeavoring to find the barren waste denominated De Pontis—without hearing footstep, or other notice of a stranger’s approach, an arm encircled her waist, and the dark eye of the page was close to her own.
“Is there nothing”—said the intruder—“more amusing to a lady in the Palais-Cardinal than poring over a mouldy map? Well! if such be the taste of Mademoiselle, may I not be her preceptor? I am accounted an excellent mathematician!”