“It is now or never,” he whispered savagely to the Duke of Pontchartrain.
“Yes, now or never,” smiled the Duke, “for I prefer the society of the ladies of Versailles and Paris to that of the drabs and bigots of Pontchartrain.”
CHAPTER XXV
THE FALL OF THE DICE
The excitement was rather increased than diminished by the report of the King’s recovery. Indeed, throughout, men’s and women’s thoughts were absorbed far more feverishly with the fortunes of Madame de Pompadour than with those of Louis himself. A palace revolution was what was desired, vengeance on the woman who had threatened to become dictator, a happy return to the old order; and the King’s illness was only important as the extraordinary miracle which would accomplish what was so passionately prayed for. The noble gentlemen and ladies spent the next hour in agitating suspense. And when it was reported that the King had rallied so marvellously as to be out of bed, to eat and to talk, the high hopes sank. Another miracle had supervened to undo the work of the first.
“A fig for miracles,” said Pontchartrain. “Voltaire and the philosophers are right; they are either stupid, useless, or meaningless. We can get on so much better without them.”
The “saints” of the circle in the Queen’s antechamber were inexpressibly shocked. And they sighed at the inscrutable and irritating way in which things in this world were ordered by Providence.
“Your theology, my dear Duke, savours of bourgeois vulgarity and ignorance. Heaven will only help those who help themselves. That woman must be ruined before the King is well enough to become insane again. If we can only drive her from the palace to-day she will never return.”
“And,” Mont Rouge added significantly, “there is a pleasant pit into which we can drive her. The fall will break her charming neck.” He began to explain very earnestly his scheme, which was listened to with the most eager attention.
“We have her,” he wound up, triumphantly. “I shall not spend the winter at Mont Rouge.”
The next news was very inspiriting. The King, on the advice of his physicians, was to leave Versailles for Rambouillet, where change of air and, presently, some of his favourite hunting would completely restore his health. He was to leave that afternoon, accompanied only by his confessor, his physician, and half a dozen servants.