Once past Versailles, and St. Cyr was almost reached, the horse which Martin Ashurst had ordered to be made ready for him that morning bearing its rider easily and pleasantly along. Almost reached, yet still a league off, wherefore the young man once more set about collecting his thoughts ere that distance should be compassed. Arranged once more in his own mind the manner in which he would approach "Madame," if she would consent to receive him.
After much consideration, after remembering, or perhaps it should better be said never forgetting, that what he was about to do might so envelop2 him in perils3 that his life would not be worth a day's--nay4, an hour's--purchase, he had decided5 that he would be frank and truthful--that was it, frank and truthful--before this woman who was now the king's wife, this woman who held the destinies of all in France in the hollow of her hand almost as much as they were held in the hand of Louis.
He would plainly tell what he knew, or thought he knew; would seek confirmation6 of that knowledge from her into whose house, to whose presence, he was determined7, if possible, to penetrate8.
If she would consent to receive him!
Only--would she?
He knew that, by all report, even by such gossip as penetrated9 as far as London, where she was much discussed in not only political but also general circles, an audience with her was as difficult to be obtained as with Le Dieudonné himself; that, with few exceptions, none outside the charmed circle of the royal children, her own creatures, and her own ecclesiastics10, were ever able to penetrate to her presence. Nay, had he not even heard it said that those on whom she poured benefits could never even obtain a sight of her? that her especial favourites, the Duchesse du Maine, the brilliant Marshals Villars, Tallard, and d'Harcourt, could get audience of her only with difficulty? And these were her friends, and he was--she might well deem that he was--her enemy.
All the same he was resolved to see her if it were possible.
His dead kinswoman had been her friend, surely his passport was there--in that.
He reached the outer gate of St. Cyr even as the clock set high above it struck one, and addressing himself to a soberly clad man servant, who was standing11 by the half-open gateway12 which led into a courtyard, he asked calmly if "Madame" was visible--if it was permissible13 for him to see her?
Then, at first, he feared that he had indeed come upon a bootless errand, for the grave and decorous servitor showed in his face so deep an astonishment14 at the request, so blank an appearance of surprise, that he thought the answer about to issue from the man's lips could be none other than one of flat refusal.
"Madame," he answered, in, however, a most respectful tone, "sees no one without an appointment. If monsieur has that she will doubtless receive him, or if he bears a message either from his Majesty15 or the Duc du Maine. Otherwise----" and he shrugged16 his shoulders expressively17.
"I have none such," Martin replied, "nor have I any appointment. Yet I earnestly desire to see Madame. I am the nephew of--of--the Princesse de Rochebazon, who died yesterday. She was Madame's friend. If I can be received upon that score I shall be grateful."
At once he saw that, as it had been before--upon, for instance, his journey from the coast toward Paris--so it was now. That name, his connection with that great and illustrious family, opened barriers which might otherwise have been closed firmly against him, removed obstacle after obstacle as they presented themselves.
The look upon the man's face became not more respectful, since that was impossible, but less hard, less inflexible18; then he said:
"If monsieur will give himself the trouble to dismount and enter the courtyard his name shall be forwarded to Madame. Whether she will receive monsieur it is impossible for me to say. Madame is now about to take her déje?ner d'après midi. But the name shall be sent."
Therefore Martin Ashurst, feeling that at least he was one step nearer to what he desired, dismounted from his horse, and resigning it to a stableman who was summoned, entered the courtyard of the chateau19, or institution, as it was more often termed, of St. Cyr. An institution where the strange woman who ruled over it brought up and educated, and sometimes dowered, the daughters of the nobility and gentry20 to whom she considered something was due from her.
At first he thought this courtyard had been constructed in imitation of some tropical garden or hothouse, so oppressive was the heat caused in it by the total exclusion21 of all air--a heat so great that here rich exotics grew in tubs as they might have grown in the soil of those far distant lands, notably22 Siam, from which they had been brought by missionaries23 as presents to their all-powerful mistress. Then he remembered that among other things peculiar24 to this woman was her love of warmth and her hatred25 of fresh air--perhaps the only subject on which she was at variance26 with Louis. And sitting there in the warm, sickly atmosphere, waiting to know what reception, if any, might be accorded him, he wondered how the king, whose love of open windows and of the cool breezes which blew across the woods and forests of his various palaces and chateaux was proverbial, could ever contrive27 to pass as much of his life as he did in the confined and vaporous air which perpetually surrounded his wife.
As thus he reflected there came toward him an elderly lady, preceded by the servitor who had received him--a woman dressed in total black, whom at first he thought might be Madame de Maintenon herself, would have felt sure that it was she had not the newcomer, bowed--nay, courtesied to him--as she drew; near, while she spoke28 in a tone of civil deference29 which he scarcely thought one so highly placed as the king's unacknowledged wife would have used.
"Madame will receive monsieur," this lady said very quietly, in a soft, almost toneless voice, "if he will follow me. Also she will be pleased if he will join her at her déje?ner."
"It is Mademoiselle Balbien," the servitor said, by way of introduction of this ancient dame1, "Madame's most cherished attendant." Whereon Martin bowed to the other with a grace which she, "attendant" though she might be, returned with as much ease as though her life had been passed in courts from the days of her long-forgotten infancy30.
"Monsieur may have heard of me," the old lady chirped31 pleasantly as now she motioned Martin to follow her, smiling, too, while she spoke. "The Princesse de Rochebazon knew me very well indeed--alas32, poor lady, and she is dead!"
Yes, Martin had heard of her, and from his aunt, too, as well as others. Had heard of her deep devotion to the woman who now ruled not only France but France's king--had heard, in truth, that the De Maintenon might have been dead long years ago of starvation, of bitter, pinching want, had it not been for this faithful creature. Had heard his aunt tell, when inclined to gossip, of how Nanon Balbien had taken Scarron's widow to her garret after the death of the bankrupt and poverty-stricken poet; had shared her bed and her daily meal--generally a salted herring and some bread--with the woman now omnipotent33 in France; had preserved her life thereby34 and prevented her succumbing35 to cold and destitution36 and starvation. Knew, too, that there were those in France who said that in so doing Nanon Balbien had unwittingly perpetrated the greatest sin, the greatest evil, against the land that was possible. That it would have been better had she left the object of her charity to die in the gutters37 of the street than to preserve her life, and thereby raise up and nourish the snake which sucked the life blood from France and all within it.
Still following this old woman, through corridors from which all air was as equally excluded as from the glass-roofed courtyard they had left--corridors, too, in which there stood in niches39 alabaster40 busts41 of saints, and one, with above it a sacred light, of the Figure itself--Martin Ashurst went on, until at last he and his conductor neared a huge ebony door the handle of which was of massive silver and representing an angel's head--a door outside which there stood four ladies in waiting, all dressed in black, none of them young, and one only passably good-looking, yet whom he divined to be women of the oldest and best blood in France, and divined rightly, too. Three of them were high-born noblemen's daughters, one the daughter of a prince--De Rohan.
"Mademoiselle de Rochechouart," said Martin's guide, "this is the gentleman. Will you conduct him to Madame?" and she drew back now, resigning the visitor to the lady whom she addressed.
"Come, monsieur," that lady said, her voice soft and low, "follow me."
A moment later and he stood before the marvellous woman, the Protestant woman born in a prison, now a bigoted42 papist and a king's wife. Yet Martin remembered only at the moment the words of his dead kinswoman, "Madame knows it." Remembered, too, how she had said of her that she was one who would never tell.
Almost he thought that she had but just risen from the prie Dieu which stood beneath another figure of the Saviour43 that was placed in a niche38 here, as was its fellow in the corridor; that she had been engaged in prayer while awaiting the moment when he should be conducted to her presence. Thought so, yet doubted. For if she knew, if she divined upon what errand he had come, would she, even she, this reputed mask of duplicity, of self-righteous deceit, be praying on her knees at such a moment? Or, for so also he thought in that swift instant, was she seeking for guidance, beseeching44 her God to cleanse45 and purify her heart, to give her grace to speak and to reveal the truth?
But now she stood there calm, erect46, notwithstanding her sixty-five years of life, waiting for him to be brought to her, for his approach. Yet not defiantly47 or arrogantly--only waiting.
The murmured words of Mademoiselle de Rochechouart served as introduction; the courtly bow of Martin Ashurst made acknowledgment of his presentation, then she spoke:
"My tears, my prayers, my supplications for Aurore de Rochebazon," she said--and he marvelled48 that her voice was so low and sweet, he having imagined, he knew not why, that it should be harsh and bitter--"have been offered up many times since I have heard of her death. Monsieur, I accept as a favour at your hands that you have ridden from Paris to see me here. Doubtless you knew that I should be soothed49 to hear of the end she made. Is it not so, monsieur?"
"It is so to some extent, madame. Yet, if you will be so gracious, there are other matters on which I shall crave50 leave to address you, if I have your permission."
"You shall have full permission to speak as it may please you. Yet, first, you have ridden from Paris. Also it is my hour for the midday repast. Monsieur," and she put out her silk mittened51 hand, "your arm."
And taking it she led him through a heavily-curtained door into an adjoining room. Within that room, sombrely furnished, dark, too, and somewhat dismal52 because of the ebony fittings and adornments, was a table with covers for two. Also upon it a silver gong. And, alone to relieve the gloom of all around, there stood upon it also a rich épergne, filled almost to overflowing53 with rich luscious54 fruit--peaches, choice grapes, and nectarines.
At first Madame said nothing, or little, to Martin Ashurst beyond the ordinary speech of a courteous55 hostess to a stranger guest; also Mademoiselle de Rochechouart and a waiting maid were always present, the former standing behind the mistress's chair and directing the latter by a glance. But at last the déje?ner drew to a conclusion, the meal of few but extremely choice plats was finished, and two little handleless cups of coffee (which Madame de Maintenon never concluded any meal whatever without) were placed in front of hostess and guest. Then they were alone.
"Now," she said, her deep eyes fixed56 upon Martin, "now tell me of the end which Aurore de Rochebazon made. Tell me all--all--her last words. They were those of one at peace, I pray."
Her voice was sweet and low as she spoke, yet not more calm than that of the man who sat before her, as he answered:
"Madame, it is to tell you of her last words that I have sought your presence. Yet, alas----"
"Alas!" she repeated quickly. "Alas! Why do you say that? Alas--what?"
"Her last words were scarce those of peace. Instead, the words of one whose end was not peaceful; of one who wandered--was distraught--or revealed in her dying moments a secret that should have been divulged57 long, years ago."
The ivory of his listener's face did not become whiter as he spoke, neither to her cheeks did any blood mantle58. There was no sign that in the mind of this, woman, marble alike in look and heart, was any knowledge of what the revealed secret was, or only one such sign. A duller glance from the deep sunken eyes, as though a film had risen before them and hidden them from him who gazed at her. Then she said:
"Doubtless she wandered. Was distraught, as you say."
"Nay, madame. For she left behind her proofs--letters--testifying----"
"What?"
"That my aunt was not the Princesse de Rochebazon. That, instead, she and her husband usurped59 a position which was never theirs. That a deep wrong had been done which must, which shall be, righted."
"By whom?"
"By me, with God's grace."
* * * * * * *
The night was falling as he rode back to Paris and entered the city by the western gate, making his way to the Rue60 Champfleury.
Yet neither the challenge of the guet at the barrier nor the noise inside it when once he was within the city, nor the crowd waiting outside a theatre to witness a revival61 of L'écolier de Salamanque, which was the production of the poor decayed creature who had been the first husband of the inscrutable woman he had visited that day, had power to rouse him from his thoughts, nor to drive from out his memory her last words:
"Even if all this were true you will never find him. Even though he lives you will never succeed."
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1
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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5
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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6
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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8
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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9
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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10
ecclesiastics
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| n.神职者，教会，牧师( ecclesiastic的名词复数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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12
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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13
permissible
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| adj.可允许的，许可的 | |
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14
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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15
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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16
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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expressively
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| ad.表示(某事物)地；表达地 | |
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inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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26
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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29
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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30
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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31
chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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32
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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omnipotent
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| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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succumbing
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的现在分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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destitution
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| n.穷困，缺乏，贫穷 | |
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37
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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40
alabaster
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| adj.雪白的；n.雪花石膏；条纹大理石 | |
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41
busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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42
bigoted
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| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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43
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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44
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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45
cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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46
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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47
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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48
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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50
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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51
mittened
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| v.（使）变得潮湿，变得湿润( moisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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53
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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54
luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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55
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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56
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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57
divulged
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| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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59
usurped
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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60
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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61
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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