Then gradually his confidence in her widened. Many chroniclers aver that it was Lydie d"Aumont who wrote her father"s celebrated memoirs, and those who at that time had the privilege of knowing her intimately could easily trace her influence in most of her father"s political moves. There is no doubt that the Duc himself, when he finally became Prime Minister of France, did very little without consulting his daughter, and even l"Abbe d"Alivet, in his "Chroniques de Louis XV,"
admits that the hot partisanship of France for the Young Pretender"s ill-conceived expeditions was mainly due to Mlle. d"Aumont"s influence.
When Vanloo painted her a little later on, he rendered with consummate and delicate skill the haughty look of command which many of Lydie"s most ardent admirers felt to be a blemish on the exquisite purity and charm of her face.
The artist, too, emphasized the depth and earnestness of her dark eyes, and that somewhat too severe and self-reliant expression which marked the straight young brow.
Perhaps it was this same masterful trait in the dainty form before him that Gaston de Stainville studied so attentively just now; there had been silence for some time between the elegant cavalier and the idolized daughter of the Prime Minister of France. She seemed restless and anxious, even absent-minded, when he spoke. She was studying the various groups of men and women as they pa.s.sed, frowning when she looked on some faces, smiling abstractedly when she encountered a pair of friendly eyes.
"I did not know that you were such a partisan of that young adventurer," said Gaston de Stainville at last, as if in answer to her thoughts, noting that her gaze now rested with stern intentness on Charles Edward Stuart.
"I must be on the side of a just cause," she rejoined quietly, as with a very characteristic movement of hers she turned her head slowly round and looked M. de Stainville full in the face.
She could not see him very well, for his head was silhouetted against the dazzling light beyond, and she frowned a little as she tried to distinguish his features more clearly in the shadow.
"You do believe, Gaston, that his cause is just?" she asked earnestly.
"Oh!" he replied lightly; "I"ll believe in the justice of any cause to which you give your support."
She shrugged her shoulders, whilst a slightly contemptuous curl appeared at the corner of her mouth.
"How like a man!" she said impatiently.
"What is like a man?" he retorted. "To love--as I love you?"
He had whispered this, hardly above his breath lest he should be overheard by some one in that gay and giddy throng who pa.s.sed laughingly by. The stern expression in her eyes softened a little as they met his eager gaze, but the good-humoured contempt was still apparent, even in her smile; she saw that as he spoke he looked through the outspread fingers of his hand to see if he was being watched, and noted that one pair of eyes, distant the whole length of the room, caught the movement, then was instantly averted.
"Mlle. de Saint Romans is watching you," she said quietly.
He seemed surprised and not a little vexed that she had noticed, and for a moment looked confused; then he said carelessly:
"Why should she not? Why should not the whole world look on, and see that I adore you?"
"Meseems you protest over-much, Gaston," she said, with a sigh.
"Impossible!"
"You talk of love too lightly."
"I am in earnest, Lydie. Why should you doubt? Are you not beautiful enough to satisfy any man"s ardour?"
"Am I not influential enough, you mean," she said, with a slight tremor in her rich young voice, "to satisfy any man"s ambition?"
"Is ambition a crime in your eyes, Lydie?"
"No; but----"
"I am ambitious; you cannot condemn me for that," he said, now speaking in more impressive tone. "When we were playmates together, years ago, you remember? in the gardens at Cluny, if other lads were there, was I not always eager to be first in the race, first in the field--first always, everywhere?"
"Even at the cost of sorrow and humiliation to the weaker ones."
He shrugged his shoulders with easy unconcern.
"There is no success in life for the strong," he said, "save at the cost of sorrow and humiliation for the weak. Lydie," he added more earnestly, "if I am ambitious it is because my love for you has made me humble. I do not feel that as I am, I am worthy of you; I want to be rich, to be influential, to be great. Is that wrong? I want your pride in me, almost as much as your love."
"You were rich once, Gaston," she said, a little coldly. "Your father was rich."
"Is it my fault if I am poor now?"
"They tell me it is; they say that you are over-fond of cards, and of other pleasures which are less avowable."
"And you believe them?"
"I hardly know," she whispered.
"You have ceased to love me, then?"
"Gaston!"
There as a tone of tender reproach there, which the young man was swift enough to note; the beautiful face before him was in full light; he could see well that a rosy blush had chased away the usual matt pallor of her cheeks, and that the full red lips trembled a little now, whilst the severe expression of the eyes was veiled in delicate moisture.
"Your face has betrayed you, Lydie!" he said, with sudden vehemence, though his voice even now hardly rose above a whisper. "If you have not forgotten your promises made to me at Cluny--in the shadow of those beech trees, do you remember? You were only thirteen--a mere child--yet already a woman, the soft breath of spring fanned your glowing cheeks, your loose hair blew about your face, framing your proud little head in a halo of gold--you remember, Lydie?"
"I have not forgotten," she said gently.
"Your hand was in mine--a child"s hand, Lydie, but yours for all that--and you promised--you remember? And if you have not forgotten--if you do love me, not, Heaven help me! as I love you, but only just a little better than any one else in the world; well, then, Lydie, why these bickerings, why these reproaches? I am poor now, but soon I will be rich! I have no power, but soon I will rule France, with you to help me if you will!"
He had grown more and more vehement as he spoke, carried along by the torrent of his own eloquence. But he had not moved; he still sat with his back to the company, and his face shaded by his hand; his voice was still low, impressive in its ardour. Then, as the young girl"s graceful head drooped beneath the pa.s.sionate expression of his gaze, bending, as it were, to the intensity of his earnest will, his eyes flashed a look of triumph, a premonition of victory close at hand.
Lydie"s strong personality was momentarily weakened by the fatigue of a long and arduous evening, by the heavy atmosphere of the room; her senses were dulled by the penetrating odours of wine and perfumes which fought with those of cosmetics.
She seemed to be yielding to the softer emotions, less watchful of her own dignity, less jealous of her own power. The young man felt that at this moment he held her just as he wished; did he stretch out his hand she would place hers in it. The recollections of her childhood had smothered all thoughts of present conflicts and of political intrigues. Mlle. d"Aumont, the influential daughter of an all-powerful Minister, had momentarily disappeared, giving way to madcap little Lydie, with short skirts and flying chestnut curls, the comrade of the handsome boy in the old gardens at Cluny.
"Lydie, if you loved me!" whispered Stainville.
"If I loved you!" and there was a world of pathos in that girlish "if."
"You would help me instead of reproaching."
"What do you want me to do, Gaston?"
"Your word is law with your father," he said persuasively. "He denies you nothing. You said I was ambitious; one word from you--this new Ministry----"
He realized his danger, bit his lip lest he had been too precipitate.
Lydie was headstrong, she was also very shrewd; the master-mind that guided the destinies of France through the weak indulgence of a father was not likely to be caught in a snare like any love-sick maid. Her woman"s instinct--he knew that--was keen to detect self-interest; and if he aroused the suspicions of the wealthy and influential woman before he had wholly subjugated her heart, he knew that he would lose the biggest stake of his life.
Lately she had held aloof from him, the playmates had become somewhat estranged; the echoes of his reckless life must, he thought, have reached her ears, and he himself had not been over-eager for the companionship of this woman, who seemed to have thrown off all the light-heartedness of her s.e.x for the sake of a life of activity and domination.
She was known to be cold and unapproachable, rigidly conscientious in transacting the business of the State, which her father with easy carelessness gradually left on her young shoulders, since she seemed to find pleasure in it.
But her influence, of which she was fully conscious, had rendered her suspicious. Even now, when the call of her youth, of her beauty, of the happy and tender recollections of her childhood loudly demanded to be heard, she cast a swift, inquiring glance at Gaston.