But after this "aside," the Marchioness resumed her gracious and coquettish air; as though the woman comprehended the mission of refined gallantry which was reserved for her seductive and delicate epoch by an indulgent Providence, that laid by its anger and its evil days for the subsequent reign.
"Marchioness," said Monsieur de Beaugency, as he held in his hands the rosy fingers of the lovely widow, "it is fully a week since you received me!"
"A week? why, you were here yesterday!"
"Then I must have counted the hours for ages."
"A compliment which may be found in one of the younger Crebillon"s books!"
"You are hard upon me, Marchioness."
"Perhaps so, ... it comes naturally ... I am tired."
"Ah, Marchioness! Heaven knows that I would make of your existence one never-ending fete!"
"That would, at least, be wearisome."
"Say a word, Madam, one single word, and my fortune, my future prospects, my ambition!"--
"You are still then as ambitious as ever?"
"More than ever, since I have been in love with you."
"Is that necessary?"
"Beyond a doubt. Ambition--what is it but honours, wealth, the envious looks of impotent rivals, the admiration of the crowd, the favour of monarchs?... And is not one"s love unanswerably and most triumphantly proved, in laying all this at the feet of the woman whom one adores?"
"You may be right."
"I may be right, Marchioness! Listen to me, my fair lady-love."
"I am all attention, sir."
"Between us, who are well-born, and consort not with plebeians, that vulgar and sentimental sort of love, which is painted by those who write books for your mantuamakers and chambermaids, would be in exceedingly bad taste. It would be but slighting love and making no account of its enjoyments, were we to go and bury it in some obscure corner of the Provinces, or of Paris--we, who belong to Versailles--living away there with it, in monotonous solitude and unchanging contemplation!"
"Ah!" said the Marchioness, "you think so?"
"Tell me, rather, of fetes that dazzle one with lights, with noise, with smiles, with wit, through which one glides intoxicated, with the fair conquest in triumph on one"s arm ... why hide one"s happiness, in place of parading it? The jealousy of the world does but increase, and cannot diminish it. My uncle, the Cardinal, stands well at court. He has the King"s ear, and better still, the Countess"s. He will, ere long, procure me one of the Northern emba.s.sies. Cannot you fancy yourself Madame the Amba.s.sadress, treading the platform of a drawing-room, as royalty with royalty, with the highest n.o.bility of a kingdom--having the men at your feet, and the women on lower seats around you, whilst you yourself are occupant of a throne, and wield a sceptre?"
And as Monsieur de Beaugency warmed with his own eloquence, he gently slid from his seat to the knees of the Marchioness, whose hand he covered with kisses.
She listened to him, with a smile on her lips, and then abruptly said to him:
"Rise, sir, and hear me in turn. Are you in truth sincerely attached to me?"
"With my whole soul, Marchioness!"
"Are you prepared to make every sacrifice?"
"Every one, Madam."
"That is fortunate indeed; for to be prepared for all, is to accomplish one, without the slightest difficulty; and it is but a single one that I require."
"Oh, speak! Must a throne be conquered?"
"By no means, sir. You must only call to mind that you own a fine chateau in Poitou."
"Pooh!" said Monsieur de Beaugency, "a shed."
"Every man"s house is his castle," replied the widow. "And having called it to mind, you need only order post-horses."
"For what purpose?"
"To carry me off to Courlac. It is there that your almoner shall unite us, in the chapel, in presence of your domestics and your va.s.sals, our only witnesses."
"A singular whim, Marchioness; but I submit to it."
"Very well. We will set out this evening.... Ah! I forgot."
"What, further?"
"Before starting, you will send in your resignation to the King."
Monsieur de Beaugency almost bounded from his seat.
"Do you dream of that, Marchioness?"
"a.s.suredly. You will not, at Courlac, be able to perform your duties at court."
"And on returning?"
"We will not return."
"We will--not--return!" slowly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Monsieur de Beaugency. "Where then shall we proceed?"
"Nowhere. We will remain at Courlac."
"All the winter?"
"And all the summer. I count upon settling myself there, after our marriage. I have a horror of the court. I do not like the turmoil.
Grandeur wearies me.... I look forward only to a simple and charming country life, to the tranquil and happy existence of the forgotten lady of the castle.... What matters it to you? You were ambitious for my love"s sake. I care but little for ambition; you ought to care for it still less, since you are in love with me."
"But, Marchioness--"
"Hush! it"s a bargain.... Still, for form"s sake, I give you one hour to reflect. There, pa.s.s out that way; go into the winter drawing-room that you will find at the end of the gallery, and send me your answer upon a leaf of your tablets. I am about to complete my toilet, which I left unfinished, to receive you."
And the Marchioness opened a door, bowed Monsieur de Beaugency into the corridor, and closed the door upon him.