After the Peace of Hubertsburg the count returned to France, entrusted, it is supposed, with a mission respecting a matrimonial alliance between France and Austria, which was afterward accomplished in the marriage of the archduchess Marie Antoinette and the dauphin. Louis XV. received the companion of his youth with great cordiality and honor. At a court audience the sovereign distinguished the soldier by removing the royal sword and scarf and with his own hands hanging the splendid guerdon over the shoulders of his subject and friend.
Leaving his protégé, D'Armagnac de Foix, in charge of affairs in Paris, the count hastened to Courance, where his neighbors hailed his arrival with every demonstration of welcome. Fêtes, hunting-parties, excursions, balls and banquets were given for his entertainment, and all the families of the Loiret joined in lionizing the brilliant chef d'escadron, heroes being a rarity in France during those piping times of peace.
Among these old and new friends the count met Madame Chiron de la Peyronie, relict of Admiral Chiron of the Grand Monarch's navy. This lady resided with her son and daughter near what was then the pretty village of La Pontoise. Her children were making their début in the informal society of the country-side, and their grace, beauty and guileless charms were heralded to the general before they were permitted to take part in the festivities incident to his return. A fox-hunt in the Forest of Fontainebleau was the occasion of their first meeting. Mademoiselle de la Peyronie and her brother, magnificently mounted, dashed up to the rendezvous at a gallop, making it the goal of a merry race. With glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes the young equestrian presented a very charming picture of maidenly loveliness. From the moment of her first appearance the count was fascinated, and during a long day's chase he scarcely left her bridle-rein. The next day he visited the family, and thereafter sought the young lady's presence with the frankest disregard of propriety. When remonstrated with for such inconsiderate devotion, the straightforward soldier settled the matter by immediately galloping over to La Pontoise and demanding of Madame de la Peyronie the hand of her daughter in marriage.
How far the widow should be held responsible for the events which followed can never be known. She was doubtless flattered by the brilliant offer, and perhaps overborne by the impetuous ardor of a suitor accustomed to regard obstacles and opposition only as something to be conquered. But she knew her daughter's heart was already engaged, and although marriage alliances were usually made by parents without reference to the bride's inclinations or opinions, the custom can hardly be held to exculpate the mother in this case.
The Pontoise family having fallen into poverty, Henri d'Armagnac de Foix had been educated by the parish curé, and when tutors came from Nemours to the children of Madame de la Peyronie the young Henri had shared their studies, passing parts of several days in each week with them at their house. Growing up together, the three became inseparable friends until, in course of years, Chiron began to find his part in the companionship somewhat de trop. That Henri and Thérèse should become lovers was so natural that the families on each side tacitly sanctioned the relation without any formal recognition. The old admiral had left a fair dot for his daughter, and on the other hand the De Foix, though impoverished, belonged to the ducal house of Nemours and ranked among the highest of the noblesse; so the match was not unsuitable, and all friends were probably satisfied. But there was no contract or ceremony of betrothal, as the lovers were still very young when Henri went away to the wars, he being at the time scarce twenty years of age. When, therefore, Thérèse's hand was demanded by the count de Courance, her mother was not deterred from giving her consent by any implied obligation to the youthful heir of La Pontoise. Who could deny the suit of the distinguished soldier, holder of the largest and richest estates in the Loiret, the personal friend of the king? Certainly not Madame de la Peyronie. She surrendered at discretion, the betrothal took place at once, and the marriage was appointed for the earliest possible day, the magnificent preparations for the event being the only occasion for delay.
Artists and artisans were brought from Paris, Château Courance was converted for the time into a busy workshop, the neighborhood thrown into a fever of excitement, and the work of making ready for the wedding was urged forward with the vigor of a military campaign. The general spent his days between Courance, where he directed the rehabilitation of the château, and La Pontoise, where he became the most devoted of cavaliers.
Mademoiselle de la Peyronie must have been dazzled by her brilliant conquest, and the sincere love of the truly noble man, the modest hero and splendid gentleman, lavished upon her every hour, could not fail to move at least her gratitude and esteem. But as the days flew by the young girl paled and drooped, and when the brief period of betrothal drew toward a close the mother's ingenuity must have been taxed to find excuses for the wayward moods and manifest misery of her unhappy child. She fell into melancholy, and sought in solitude opportunity for constant tears. Her favorite resort was a hill overlooking the road to Fontainebleau and Paris, and here she would sit for hours, gazing steadily toward the north, as if expecting some one who never came.
All too soon the wedding-day arrived. From every direction came to Courance, where the ceremony was to be performed in the chapel, the great families of the Loiret—a more distinguished assembly of the aristocracy of France than could have been gathered elsewhere beyond the limits of Paris and the court. Throngs of lovely dames and gallant gentlemen greeted the arrival of the bridal-party from La Pontoise, and if the shrinking bride attracted attention, her emotion was attributed to maiden shyness, none dreaming that a desperate terror was shaking that harassed heart.
At noon the preliminary observances were concluded, the assembly moved to the chapel, and the bishop of Nemours advanced to the altar to unite Raoul Boismonard du Guesclin and Thérèse Chiron de la Peyronie in the holy bonds of wedlock. The bridal pair knelt before him, the solemn office of the Church began, when the sharp ring of a horse's hoof struck the stones of the courtyard, and the breathless hush of the sacred place was broken as the betrayed lover burst into the chapel.
With an agonizing cry the bride flew to his arms, and, moved by an instinctive impulse, he turned to bear his beloved away. One instant the count stood fast, clutching the hilt of a dainty rapier at his side, the gift of the king. The next that delicate blade flashed from its jewelled sheath, drove through the body of Henri de Foix, and pierced to the heart the unhappy girl clinging to his breast.