The Queen's Necklace

CHAPTER XIV.

M. FINGRET

Madame de la Motte, looking at all this, began to perceive how much she wanted. She wanted a drawing-room to hold sofas and lounging-chairs; a dining-room for tables and sideboards; and a boudoir for Persian curtains, screens, and knick-knacks; above all, she wanted the money to buy all these things. But in Paris, whatever you cannot afford to buy, you can hire; and Madame de la Motte set her heart on a set of furniture covered in yellow silk, with gilt nails, which she thought would be very becoming to her dark complexion. But this furniture she felt sure would never go into her rooms on the fifth story; it would be necessary to hire the third, which was composed of an ante-chamber, a dining-room, small drawing-room, and bedroom, so that she might, she thought, receive on this third story the visits of the cardinal, and on the fifth those of ladies of charity – that is to say, receive in luxury those who give from ostentation, and in poverty those who only desire to give when it is needed.

The countess, having made all these reflections, turned to where M. Fingret himself stood, with his hat in his hand, waiting for her commands.

"Madame?" said he in a tone of interrogation, advancing towards her.

"Madame la Comtesse de la Motte Valois," said Jeanne.

At this high-sounding name M. Fingret bowed low, and said: "But there is nothing in this room worthy Madame la Comtesse's inspection. If madame will take the trouble to step into the next one, she will see what is new and beautiful."

Jeanne colored. All this had seemed so splendid to her, too splendid even to hope to possess it; and this high opinion of M. Fingret's concerning her perplexed her not a little. She regretted that she had not announced herself as a simple bourgeoise; but it was necessary to speak, so she said, "I do not wish for new furniture."

"Madame has doubtless some friend's apartments to furnish?"

"Just so," she replied.

"Will madame, then, choose?" said M. Fingret, who did not care whether he sold new or old, as he gained equally by both.

"This set," said Jeanne, pointing to the yellow silk one.

"That is such a small set, madame."

"Oh, the rooms are small."

"It is nearly new, as madame may see."

"But the price?"

"Eight hundred francs."

The price made the countess tremble; and how was she to confess that a countess was content with second-hand things, and then could not afford to pay eight hundred francs for them? She therefore thought the best thing was to appear angry, and said: "Who thinks of buying, sir? Who do you think would buy such old things? I only want to hire."

Fingret made a grimace; his customer began gradually to lose her value in his eyes. She did not want to buy new things, only to hire old ones, "You wish it for a year?" he asked.

"No, only for a month. It is for some one coming from the country."

"It will be one hundred francs a month."

"You jest, surely, monsieur; why, in eight months I should have paid the full price of it."

"Granted, Madame la Comtesse."

"Well, is not that too bad?"

"I shall have the expense of doing it up again when you return it."

Madame de la Motte reflected. "One hundred francs a month is very dear, certainly; but either I can return it at the end of that time and say it is too dear, or I shall then perhaps be in a situation to buy."

"I will take it," she said, "with curtains to match."

"Yes, madame."

"And carpets."

"Here they are."

"What can you give me for another room?"

"These oak chairs, this table with twisted legs, and green damask curtains."

"And for a bedroom?"

"A large and handsome bed, a counterpane of velvet embroidered in rose-color and silver, an excellent couch, and blue curtains."

"And for my dressing-room?"

"A toilet-table hung with Mechlin lace; chest of drawers with marqueterie; sofa and chairs of tapestry. The whole came from the bedroom of Madame de Pompadour at Choisy."

"All this for what price?"

"For a month?"

"Yes."

"Four hundred francs."

"Come, Monsieur Fingret, do not take me for a grisette who is dazzled by your fine descriptions. Please to reflect that you are asking at the rate of four thousand eight hundred francs a year, and for that I can take a whole furnished house. You disgust me with the Place Royale."

"I am very sorry, madame."

"Prove it, then; I will only give half that price." Jeanne pronounced these words with so much authority that the merchant began again to think she might be worth conciliating.

"So be it, then, madame."

"And on one condition, M. Fingret."

"What, madame?"

"That everything be arranged in its proper place by three o'clock."

"But consider, madame, it is now ten."

"Can you do it or not?"

"Where must they go to?"

"Rue St. Claude."

"Close by?"

"Precisely."

The upholsterer opened a door, and called, "Sylvain! Landry! Rémy!"

Three men answered to the call.

"The carts and the trucks instantly. Rémy, you shall take this yellow furniture; Sylvain, you take that for the dining-room; and you, Landry, that for the bedroom. Here is the bill, madame; shall I receipt it?"

"Here are six double louis," she said, "and you can give the change to these men if the order is completed in time;" and, having given her address, she reentered her coach.

On her return she engaged the third floor, and in a few hours all was in order.

The lodgings thus transformed, the windows cleaned, and the fires lighted, Jeanne went again to her toilet, which she made as recherché as possible, and then took a last look at all the delights around her. Nothing had been forgotten: there were gilded branches from the walls for wax-lights, and glass lusters on each side of the mirror; Jeanne had also added flowers, to complete the embellishment of the paradise in which she intended to receive his eminence. She took care even to leave the door of the bedroom a little open, through which the light of a bright fire gave a glimpse of the luxuries within.

All these preparations completed, she seated herself in a chair by the fire, with a book in her hand, listening eagerly to the sound of every carriage that passed; but nine, ten, and eleven o'clock struck, and no one came. Still she did not despair; it was not too late for a gallant prelate, who had probably been first to some supper, and would come to her from there. But at last twelve struck; no one appeared, the lights were burning low, and the old servant, after many lamentations over her new cap, had fallen asleep in her chair.

At half-past twelve Jeanne rose furious from her chair, looked out of window for the hundredth time, and, seeing no one near, undressed herself and went to bed, refusing supper, or to answer any of the remarks made to her by Clotilde; and on her sumptuous bed, under her beautiful curtains, she experienced no better rest than she had on the previous night. At last, however, her anger began a little to abate, and she commenced framing excuses for the cardinal. He had so much to occupy him, he must have been detained, and, most potent of all, he had not yet seen her. She would not have been so easily consoled if he had broken the promise of a second visit.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CARDINAL DE ROHAN

The next evening Jeanne, not discouraged, renewed all her preparations of the night before; and on this occasion she had no time to grow impatient, for at seven o'clock a carriage drove up to the door, from which a gentleman got out. At the sound of the door-bell Jeanne's heart beat so loud that you might almost have heard it; however, she composed herself as well as she could, and in a few minutes Clotilde opened the door, and announced the person who had written the day before yesterday.

"Let him come in," said Jeanne; and a gentleman dressed in silk and velvet, and with a lofty carriage, entered the room.

Jeanne made a step forward, and said: "To whom have I the honor of speaking?"

"I am the Cardinal de Rohan," he replied; at which Madame de la Motte, feigning to be overwhelmed with the honor, courtesied, as though he were a king. Then she advanced an armchair for him, and placed herself in another.

The cardinal laid his hat on the table, and, looking at Jeanne, began: "It is, then, true, mademoiselle – "

"Madame," interrupted Jeanne.

"Pardon me; I forgot."

"My husband is called De la Motte, monseigneur."

"Oh, yes; a gendarme, is he not?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you, madame, are a Valois?"

"I am, monseigneur."

"A great name," said the cardinal, "but rare – believed extinct."

"Not extinct, sir, since I bear it, and as I have a brother, Baron de Valois."

"Recognized?"

"That has nothing to do with it. Recognized or unrecognized, rich or poor, he is still Baron de Valois."

"Madame, explain to me this descent; it interests me; I love heraldry."

Jeanne repeated all that the reader already knows.

The cardinal listened and looked. He did not believe either her story or her merit; but she was poor and pretty.

"So that," he said carelessly, when she had finished, "you have really been unfortunate."

"I do not complain, monseigneur."

"Indeed, I had heard a most exaggerated account of the difficulties of your position; this lodging is commodious and well furnished."

"For a grisette, no doubt," replied Jeanne.

"What! do you call these rooms fit for a grisette?"

"I do not think you can call them fit for a princess," replied Jeanne.

"And you are a princess?" said he, in an ironical tone.

"I was born a Valois, monseigneur, as you were a Rohan," said Jeanne, with so much dignity that he felt a little touched by it.

"Madame," said he, "I forgot that my first words should have been an apology. I wrote to you that I would come yesterday, but I had to go to Versailles to assist at the reception of M. de Suffren."

"Monseigneur does me too much honor in remembering me to-day; and my husband will more than ever regret the exile to which poverty compels him, since it prevents him from sharing this favor with me."

"You live alone, madame?" asked the cardinal.

"Absolutely alone. I should be out of place in all society but that from which my poverty debars me."

"The genealogists do not contest your claim?"

"No; but what good does it do me?"

"Madame," continued the cardinal, "I shall be glad to know in what I can serve you."

"In nothing, monseigneur," she said.

"How! in nothing? Pray be frank."

"I cannot be more frank than I am."

"You were complaining just now."

"Certainly, I complain."

"Well, then?"

"Well, then, monseigneur, I see that you wish to bestow charity on me."

"Oh, madame!"

"Yes, sir, I have taken charity, but I will do so no more. I have borne great humiliation."

"Madame, you are wrong, there is no humiliation in misfortune."

"Not even with the name I bear? Would you beg, M. de Rohan?"

"I do not speak of myself," said he, with an embarrassment mingled with hauteur.

"Monseigneur, I only know two ways of begging: in a carriage, or at a church door in velvet or in rags. Well, just now, I did not expect the honor of this visit; I thought you had forgotten me."

"Oh, you knew, then, that it was I who wrote?"

"Were not your arms on the seal?"

"However, you feigned not to know me."

"Because you did not do me the honor to announce yourself."

"This pride pleases me," said the cardinal.

"I had then," continued Jeanne, "despairing of seeing you, taken the resolution of throwing off all this flimsy parade, which covers my real poverty, and of going in rags, like other mendicants, to beg my bread from the passers-by."

"You are not at the end of your resources, I trust, madame?"

Jeanne did not reply.

"You have some property, even if it be mortgaged? Some family jewels? This, for example," and he pointed to a box, with which the delicate fingers of the lady had been playing. "A singular box, upon my word! Will you permit me to look? Oh, a portrait!" he continued, with a look of great surprise. "Do you know the original of this portrait?" asked Jeanne.

"It is that of Maria Theresa."

"Of Maria Theresa?"

"Yes, the Empress of Austria."

"Really!" cried Jeanne. "Are you sure, monseigneur?"

"Where did you get it?" he asked.

"From a lady who came the day before yesterday."

"To see you?"

"Yes."

The cardinal examined the box with minute attention.

"There were two ladies," continued Jeanne.

"And one of them gave you this box?" said he, with evident suspicion.

"No; she dropped it here."

The cardinal remained thoughtful for some time, and then said, "What was the name of this lady? I beg pardon for being inquisitive."

"Indeed, it is a somewhat strange question."

"Indiscreet, perhaps, but not strange."

"Yes, very strange; for if I had known her name, I should have returned it long before this."

"Then, you know not who she is?"

"I only know she is the head of some charitable house."

"In Paris?"

"No; in Versailles."

"From Versailles; the head of a charitable house!"

"Monseigneur, I accept charity from ladies; that does not so much humiliate a poor woman; and this lady, who had heard of my wants, left a hundred louis on my table when she went away."

"A hundred louis!" said the cardinal in surprise; then, fearing to offend, he added, "I am not astonished, madame, that they should give you such a sum. You merit, on the contrary, all the solicitude of charitable people, and your name makes it a duty to help you. It is only the title of the Sister of Charity that surprised me, they are not in the habit of giving such donations. Could you describe this lady to me?"

"Not easily, sir."

"How so, since she came here?"

"Yes, but she probably did not wish to be recognized, for she hid her face as much as possible in her hood, and was besides, enveloped in furs."

"Well, but you saw something?"

"My impressions were, that she had blue eyes, and a small mouth, though the lips were rather thick."

"Tall or short?"

"Of middle height."

"Her hands?"

"Perfect."

"Her throat?"

"Long and slender."

"Her expression?"

"Severe and noble. But you, perhaps, know this lady, monseigneur?"

"Why should you think so, madame?"

"From the manner in which you question me; besides, there is a sympathy between the doers of good works."

"No, madame, I do not know her."

"But, sir, if you had some suspicion."

"How should I?"

"Oh, from this portrait, perhaps."

"Yes, certainly, the portrait," said the cardinal, rather uneasily.

"Well, sir, this portrait you still believe to be that of Maria Theresa?"

"I believe so, certainly."

"Then you think – ?"

"That you have received a visit from some German lady who has founded one of these houses!" But it was evident that the cardinal doubted, and he was pondering how this box, which he had seen a hundred times in the hands of the queen, came into the possession of this woman. Had the queen really been to see her? If she had been, was she indeed unknown to Jeanne? Or, if not, why did she try to hide the knowledge from him. If the queen had really been there, it was no longer a poor woman he had to deal with, but a princess succored by a queen, who bestowed her gifts in person.

Jeanne saw that the cardinal was thoughtful, and even suspicious of her. She felt uneasy, and knew not what to say.

At last, however, he broke the silence by saying, "And the other lady?"

"Oh, I could see her perfectly; she is tall and beautiful, with a determined expression, and a brilliant complexion."

"And the other lady did not name her?"

"Yes, once; but by her Christian name."

"What was it?"

"Andrée."

"Andrée!" repeated the cardinal, with a start.

This name put an end to all his doubts. It was known that the queen had gone to Paris on that day with Mademoiselle de Taverney. It was evident, also, that Jeanne had no intention of deceiving him; she was telling all she knew. Still, he would try one more proof.

"Countess," he said, "one thing astonishes me, that you have not addressed yourself to the king."

"But, sir, I have sent him twenty petitions."

"Without result?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, the princes of the blood; M. le Duc d'Orleans is charitable, and often likes to do what the king refuses."

"I have tried him, equally fruitlessly."

"That astonishes me."

"Oh, when one is poor, and not supported by any one – "

"There is still the Comte d'Artois; sometimes dissipated men do more generous actions than charitable ones."

"It is the same story with him."

"But the princesses, the aunts of the king, Madame Elizabeth particularly, would refuse assistance to no one."

"It is true, monseigneur, her royal highness, to whom I wrote, promised to receive me; but, I know not why, after having received my husband, I could never get any more notice from her."

"It is strange, certainly," said the cardinal; then, as if the thought had just struck him, he cried, "Ah! mon Dieu! but we are forgetting the person to whom you should have addressed yourself first of all."

"Whom do you mean?"

"To the dispenser of all favors, she who never refuses help where it is deserved – to the queen. Have you seen her?"

"No," answered Jeanne.

"You have never presented your petition to the queen?"

"Never."

"You have not tried to obtain an audience of her?"

"I have tried, but failed."

"Have you tried to throw yourself in her way, that she might remark you?"

"No, monseigneur."

"But that is very strange."

"I have only been twice to Versailles, and then saw but two persons there; one was Doctor Louis, who had attended my poor father at the Hôtel Dieu, and the other was M. le Baron de Taverney, to whom I had an introduction."

"What did M. de Taverney say to you? He might have brought you to the queen."

"He told me that I was very foolish to bring forward as a claim to the benevolence of the king a relationship which would be sure to displease him, as nobody likes poor relations."

"I recognize the egotistical and rude old baron. Well," continued he, "I will conduct you myself to Versailles, and will open the doors for you."

"Oh, monseigneur, how good you are," cried Jeanne, overwhelmed with joy.

The cardinal approached her, and said, "It is impossible but that before long all must interest themselves in you."

"Alas! monseigneur," said Jeanne, with a sigh, "do you think so?"

"I am sure of it."

"I fear you flatter me," she said, looking earnestly at him, for she could hardly believe in his sudden change of manner, he had been so cold and suspicious at first.

This look had no small effect on the cardinal; he began to think he had never met a woman prettier or more attractive. "Ah, ma foi!" said he to himself, with the eternally scheming spirit of a man used to diplomacy, "it would be too extraordinary and too fortunate if I have met at once an honest woman with the attractions of a scheming one, and found in this poverty an able coadjutrix to my desires."

"Monseigneur, the silence you keep every now and then disquiets me."

"Why so, countess?"

"Because a man like you only fails in politeness to two kinds of women."

"Mon Dieu! countess, you frighten me. What are you about to say?" and he took her hand.

"I repeat it," said she, "with women that you love too much, or with women whom you do not esteem enough to be polite to."

"Countess, you make me blush. Have I, then, failed in politeness towards you?"

"Rather so, monseigneur; and yet you cannot love me too much, and I have given you no cause to despise me."

"Oh, countess, you speak as if you were angry with me."

"No, monseigneur; you have not yet merited my anger."

"And I never will, madame. From this day, in which I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, my solicitude for you will not cease."

"Oh, sir, do not speak to me of your protection."

"Oh, mon Dieu! I should humiliate myself, not you, in mentioning such a thing;" and he pressed her hand, which he continued to hold, to his lips.

She tried to withdraw it; but he said, "Only politeness, madame," and she let it remain.

"To know," said she, "that I shall occupy a place, however small, in the mind of a man so eminent and so busy, would console me for a year."

"Let us hope the consolation will last longer than that, countess."

"Well, perhaps so, monseigneur; I have confidence in you, because I feel that you are capable of appreciating a mind like mine, adventurous, brave, and pure, in spite of my poverty, and of the enemies which my position has made me. Your eminence will, I am sure, discover all the good that is in me, and be indulgent to all the rest."

"We, are, then, warm friends, madame;" and he advanced towards her, but his arms were a little more extended than the occasion required. She avoided him, and said, laughing:

"It must be a friendship among three, cardinal."

"Among three?"

"Doubtless, for there exists an exile, a poor gendarme, who is called M. de la Motte."

"Oh, countess, what a deplorably good memory you have!"

"I must speak to you of him, that you may not forget him."

"Do you know why I do not speak of him, countess?"

"No; pray tell me."

"Because he will speak enough for himself: husbands never let themselves be forgotten. We shall hear that M. le Comte de la Motte found it good, or found it bad, that the Cardinal de Rohan came two, three, or four times a week to visit his wife."

"Ah! but will you come so often, monseigneur?"

"Without that, where would be our friendship? Four times! I should have said six or seven."

Jeanne laughed, "I should not indeed wonder in that case if people did talk of it."

"Oh! but we can easily prevent them."

"How?"

"Quite easily. The people know me – "

"Certainly, monseigneur."

"But you they have the misfortune not to know."

"Well?"

"Therefore, if you would – "

"What, sir?"

"Come out instead of me."

"Come to your hotel, monseigneur?"

"You would go to see a minister."

"Oh! a minister is not a man."

"You are adorable, countess. But I did not speak of my hotel; I have a house – "

"Oh! a petite maison?"

"No; a house of yours."

"A house of mine, cardinal! Indeed, I did not know it."

"To-morrow, at ten o'clock, you shall have the address."

The countess blushed; the cardinal took her hand again, and imprinted another kiss upon it, at once bold, respectful, and tender. They then bowed to each other.

"Light monseigneur down," said the countess; and he went away.

"Well," thought she, "I have made a great step in the world."

"Come," said the cardinal to himself as he drove off, "I think I have killed two birds with one stone; this woman has too much talent not to catch the queen as she has caught me?"

CHAPTER XVI.

MESMER AND ST. MARTIN

The fashionable study in Paris at this time, and that which engrossed most of those who had no business to attend to, was Mesmerism – a mysterious science, badly defined by its discoverers, who did not wish to render it too plain to the eyes of the people. Dr. Mesmer, who had given to it his own name, was then in Paris, as we have already heard from Marie Antoinette.