VIII
Madame
Roxhythe proceeded to Paris in a blaze of magnificence, and on his arrival went at once to the Louvre, to the apartments of M. le Comte de Saint-Aignan. The doors flew open before him, and he was ushered into the private room of M. le Comte.
The room was furnished sumptuously and was much gilded. M. le Comte, swathed in a marvellous satin wrapper, was reposing on a silken-covered divan. In one hand he had a book of poems; the other was held by his valet, who knelt at his side, manicuring monsieur’s delicate nails. The air was heavy with some sweet scent; a fire burned in the grate. On every embroidered seat were cushions; the rugs that covered the polished floor were very thick and soft.
When Roxhythe was announced the Comte dropped his book in surprise and swung his legs to the ground.
“Mon Dieu! Roxhyt’e!”
Roxhythe came forward gracefully.
“If I am very inopportune, say so, my dear Comte.”
“Inopportune! Mais non! How could such a thing be?” cried Saint-Aignan. He rose, and clasped my lord’s hand. Over his shoulder he addressed the valet. “François, you may go. Tell them to see to monsieur’s apartments and his baggage. Vite!”
“Oui, monsieur.” The man slipped out.
Saint-Aignan drew his guest to a chair.
“But sit down, mon cher! Why are you here?”
Roxhythe put his hat on the table. He cast the Comte a quizzical glance.
“My dear Henri, you know as well, perhaps better, than I do myself.”
The Comte made a little gesture of protest.
“Roxhyt’e! So blunt! So brusque!”
“I cry your pardon! You want a pretty phrase, eh? Well, I have come on account of the beaux yeux of Madame.”
“Oh, that!” The Comte threw out his hands. “It will suffice. They think that in England?”
“I really don’t know. It is quite likely.”
“They do not know you in England? Not even now?”
“Henri, you are a rogue. Do you think that you know me?”
“Mais oui! Tu es un grand poseur, mon ami!”
“Then they know me in England?”
“No. They do not think you an intriguer.”
Roxhythe drew out his comfit-box.
“Let me offer you a sweetmeat!”
The Comte accepted one smiling.
“You find that a good way to turn the subject?”
“An excellent way. I have never known it fail.”
“Except with me!”
“Oh, you! You are incorrigible, Henri! But do strive to remember that I am an idle flâneur!”
“I will try. You do not intend to confide in me?”
“But certainly! I bought these quite modish boots at Piccat’s. My gloves I obtained with much difficulty at Dormont’s. You’ll observe the gold fringe with the blue entwined. I conceived the idea. So now we have gloves à la Roxhythe. I have my uses, you see.”
The Comte could not resist inspecting the gloves. He did it surreptitiously and pretended that he was not interested.
“Peste! What do I want with your gloves? Va donc! You’ve naught to tell me of your business in Paris?”
“You’ll hear it all from His Majesty. Why plague me?”
Saint-Aignan almost pouted.
“You are as secret as the dead. Eh bien! Tell me of your cold, dark city. What of Whitehall?”
“The same as ever. And the cold, dark city is very bright and springlike.”
“C’est vrai? Ah! Roxhyt’e!” He straightened in his chair.
“Well, what now?” My lord looked lazily across at him.
“How dared you stay with de Guiche last month? Why did you not come here as before?”
“Two reasons.”
“Give them, vaurien! You will be abominably rude, I know!”
“I shall. Firstly, de Guiche showed a marked desire for my company; secondly, I had little or no desire for yours. Are you satisfied?”
“Parfaitement!” The Comte’s mobile face was wreathed in smiles. “Inimitable one! And for how long do you intend to honour me?”
“I am not sure. Not more than ten days. Can you bear with me so long as that?”
“I could bear with you for much longer. You refresh me. You have made your bow to the King?”
“No, I came straight to you.”
“Ah, you must go to His Majesty! He will be delighted to see you again. I tell you, Roxhyt’e, it is only in France that you are appreciated.”
“Oh, no! They appreciate me in England, I assure you.”
“A maker of gloves! Bah! I shall take you with me tonight.”
Roxhythe turned an inquiring eye upon him.
“To the levée,” nodded Saint-Aignan.
Roxhythe sighed.
“I believe I shall be indisposed. Your Grand Monarcque is so damned austere.”
Saint-Aignan laughed at him.
“That will be good for you, mon cher! A change from your King, eh?”
“Yes,” said Roxhythe. “King Charles, thank God, is not of a strenuous disposition.”
“But you will come?”
Roxhythe rose. He smiled down at the brisk Comte.
“For the good of my soul,” he bowed.
He went to the levée, gorgeously clad in silver and pale blue, with slashings of rose-pink. Even the critical Saint-Aignan was pleased to approve of his costume. He observed that Roxhythe “took the eye.”
His Majesty was very gracious. He allowed Roxhythe to kiss his hand, and he stayed for some moments to talk to him. Then he pursued his regal way, an imposing little figure, bearing himself with all the haughtiness, the sublime magnificence that characterised him.
Roxhythe always protested that His Most Christian Majesty was a figure of fun, but in his heart he must have respected him, although he never acknowledged it. He remarked, when pressed, that Louis tickled his sense of humour.
When the King left him my lord paid some extravagant compliments to the La Vallière, under the eye of Madame de Montespan, for whom he possessed some strange fascination, until that eye was flaming with anger. Then he left La Vallière, and paid still more extravagant compliments to La Montespan, to the amusement of Mademoiselle. After that he disappeared in the wake of de Guiche, and was next seen in attendance on Mademoiselle de Foucheron, one of the Queen’s ladies.
Monsieur, as was called the Duc d’Orléans, strolled across the room, saw Roxhythe, exclaimed at him, and claimed his attention. Roxhythe’s boredom grew. He did not find the King’s brother entertaining. He presently departed, taking with him one Philippe de Courcillon, Marquis de Dangeau. He appeared no more that evening.
Saint-Aignan found him in elegant déshabillé, in his room, some hours later.
“Mais, mon ami! Madame has been asking for you!”
“Alas!” Roxhythe sat down. “I met Monsieur instead.”
“Madame did not arrive until an hour later. I told her you were fatigued from your journey and had retired early. And why did you drag de Courcillon with you? Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, tu es incorrigible!”
“Oh? Was it not permitted? De Courcillon amuses me. We went into the gardens and exchanged reminiscences. I never believe in outstaying my welcome.”
Saint-Aignan caught sight of himself in the glass.
“I am not satisfied with this wig,” he mused. “It lacks that indescribable something—My dear Marquis, you could not outstay your welcome, but certain it is that everyone is ten thousand times more intrigued to see you now that you are gone. It is very curious.”
“No, very natural. I never stay longer than an hour at a levée.”
Saint-Aignan started to laugh.
“Pardieu, Roxhyt’e! Que tu es amusant! And they tolerate you at Whitehall? La-la! That is why they call you enigmatical! Because you do things that no one else dare dream of doing! And you have not offended tonight! No. ‘Voilà,’ they say.—‘C’est Roxhyt’e!’ Oh, grand poseur!”
“Go to bed,” smiled my lord. “You fatigue me!”
“I would you might stay here an hundred years,” continued Saint-Aignan. “I should never weary of you!” He went out, still chuckling.
Roxhythe arrived at the Palais Royal next afternoon, and inquired for Madame.
The lackey shook his head.
“Madame does not receive this afternoon, monsieur.”
Roxhythe tapped his comfit-box with an impatient finger.
“My friend, you are not acquainted with me. I am Roxhythe.”
The man bowed at once.
“Pardon, milor’! If milor’ will enter, I will inform Madame. Madame has said she will receive milor’.”
Roxhythe was shown into a great room overlooking the courtyard.
After a few moments the lackey returned.
“If milor’ will deign to follow me. …”
He led Roxhythe up the grand staircase, and across the hall, to a smaller room which was Madame’s private salon.
The Duchesse rose at his entry, and extended her hand.
“I have been expecting you, my lord.”
Roxhythe bowed, carrying her fingers to his lips. If he ever bent the knee to a woman, that woman was Henrietta Stuart, Duchesse d’Orléans.
“I am honoured, Madame.”
She waved him to a chair, and made a sign to her lady-in-waiting to leave the room. The lady went out, gracefully.
“Sit down near me! C’est cela! Tell me, did you recognize my demoiselle d’honneur?”
Roxhythe frowned.
“Was she with you at Dunkirk, Madame?”
“And in London. You do not remember?”
“On the contrary. Mademoiselle de Kéroualle. His Majesty conceived a liking for her.”
Madame’s great eyes scanned his face.
“Mademoiselle desires to join the Court at Whitehall.”
Roxhythe’s lips twitched.
“I see. Well, you have chosen a fit envoy.”
“So I think. Charles will permit it?”
“No doubt he will be delighted.”
Madame had charming dimples. She showed them now.
“He is a sad man,” she said. “Poor Charles!” The dimples vanished. “Well—M. Colbert de Croissy informs us that His Majesty—considers.”
“What I admire about M. Colbert is his careful truth,” remarked Roxhythe.
“Then His Majesty has not come to a decision?”
“By no means. Subject to certain conditions he will give the matter his serious consideration.”
“Ah!” Madame pulled a cushion into place. “Go on, Roxhythe.”
My lord chose and ate a comfit with great deliberation. Then he snapped the box and put it away.
“Madame, you must forgive me an I weary you, but I wish to come to an understanding. You’ll permit me to go back a little. In February as you know, M. Colbert was granted an audience at Whitehall. There were present, His Majesty, His Grace of York, Sir Thomas Clifford, and myself. M. Colbert laid before us as prettily worded a scheme as it has ever been my lot to listen to. The second thing I admire in M. Colbert is his capacity for vague terms. The proposition that he unfolded was rosy in hue—for England. The only point where we were left in the dark regarded France. His Majesty was, and still is, curious to know in what way France stands to profit by the alliance.”
“Did M. Colbert not tell you?” evaded Madame.
“M. Colbert showed himself most astute except in one point. That was his estimation of King Charles. He did not give him credit for any brain, Madame.”
“M. Colbert knows that His Majesty is—very wise.”
“Then he did not intend to flatter him by showing that knowledge. He gave us fair words but he omitted to tell us exactly what it is that France requires of England.”
“Perhaps he thought His Majesty astute enough to guess that.”
“It may be so. But, Madame, it is not King Charles his custom to sign treaties on supposition.”
“Roxhythe, did I not tell you myself? Why recall all this?”
“Madame,” he answered, bowing. “I have always said that you were born to be a politician. You also gave me vague explanations and fair words. I want plain speaking; that is why I recall it. Till now you have refused to speak plainly.”
She sat still, twisting the cushion tassel about her finger.
“You are very bold, my lord.”
“Your pardon, Madame, no. Rather ’tis you and King Louis who are bold to seek to cozen my master.”
Her irrepressible smile peeped out.
“I think perhaps you are right, Roxhythe. I will be more explicit.”
Again he bowed.
“King Louis is at war with Holland. At any moment he may be called upon to war with Spain. France is very powerful; she can easily support the cost of these wars. But …” Madame looked up. “… She must be assured that England will not enter into the conflict on Holland’s side. That might—I say might, Roxhythe—turn the scale. Louis is cautious. He does not want to run the risk of defeat. So he seeks to bring about this treaty. You know all this.”
“Yes, Madame, but I wanted it from your own lips. This war with Spain—I gather it would only come in the event of the Spanish King’s death?”
“That is so. The matter is very near to Louis’ heart.”
“So I apprehend. Now, M. Colbert spoke with his engaging airiness of wars. He told us that King Louis would require England to aid him in these wars. Does this apply to the possible war with Spain?”
“Of course it does.”
“I wonder if King Louis ever gave the Triple Bond his attention?”
“Why?”
“Because if he had carefully read that bond he would have seen that England has promised to hold Spain inviolate.”
“He knows that.”
“Yet he proposes this?”
“Roxhythe, the whole of this treaty is a violation of the Triple Bond! Why cavil at that one point?”
“That one point, Madame, is direct. The rest is vague, and might be termed a violation. This is too positive.”
“You want it kept out of the treaty?”
“I do. It is no matter to King Charles whether or no France usurps the throne of Spain. But it is possible that Clifford and Arlington might not see eye to eye with His Majesty there. Can you not employ one of those vague terms, Madame?”
“To leave a loophole for Charles? Roxhythe, Roxhythe!”
“All I ask is that you do not specify any particular war. You may make it as blind as you please, but pray have a thought for Messieurs Clifford and Arlington their scruples.”
“They must know what it is that Louis hath in his mind?”
“They know, yes. But they can shut their eyes to the obvious so long as it is not made too obvious.”
Her laughter bubbled over.
“How wise you are, Roxhythe! I will tell King Louis. Is that all you want with me?”
“I fear I am trespassing on your time, Madame. It is not all. There are two more points.”
She sighed.
“Let us have the first.”
“The first, Madame, is the point on which you have—pardon me—consistently evaded me. You say that King Louis wishes to see the Catholic religion furthered in England. He also wishes England to join him in subduing the Provinces.”
“The two are not incompatible,” said Madame.
Roxhythe smiled a little.
“Are they not, Madame? Yet I think you will agree that they cannot both be done at one and the same time.”
Madame twitched her gown with fingers that trembled.
“Roxhythe, I am tired of this subject.”
“And I, Madame. Therefore I wished to have the question settled. His Majesty stipulates that the furtherance of Catholicism in England shall precede war with the Dutch.”
“Yes, Roxhythe. And King Louis stipulates that war with the Dutch shall come first.”
“I am sorry. May I state my case?”
“Please do.”
“It is this: by making England Catholic once more King Charles his position is strengthened. He may then safely enter into hostilities against Holland. If he does so now there will be uproar in the Houses, perhaps discovery of this compact; even failure.”
Madame looked up. She scanned Roxhythe’s face thoughtfully.
“My lord, you have known my brother for many years.”
“I have had that honour, Madame.”
“I also have known him for many years.”
“Yes, Madame?”
“Yes, Roxhythe. I know that he is astute; I see that he wishes to avoid war with Holland; I know too that this desire for Catholicism is a blind to King Louis, and possibly a sop to my brother James his scruples. King Charles can twist and dupe his Parliament with the utmost ease. Am I right?”
“Not entirely, Madame. My argument still stands.”
“Because of James?”
“No. It is King Charles his wish.”
Madame bit her lip. She seemed to consider.
“So I am to bear that message to King Louis?”
“I shall be greatly indebted to you if you will, Madame.”
“I think I will do it, Roxhythe. And we shall see. Is that all?”
“I am very tiresome, Madame. There is still the second point.”
Suddenly her gravity left her. She threw out her hands, laughing.
“I know what is coming now!” she despaired. “Mordieu, I’ll never act intermediary again! The price!”
Roxhythe did not smile.
“An all important question, Madame.”
She folded her hands.
“Proceed.”
“M. Colbert—I think I told you of my admiration for his vagueness?”
“Chut!” she reproved him.
“I thought so. M. Colbert spoke of the bribe—no, I beg your pardon—the allowance that King Louis wished to offer my master. We were both surprised and gratified to hear of this matter. But M. Colbert contrived and still contrives to leave us unsatisfied after all. He forgot to mention figures. I fear he is very absentminded, Madame.”
“Did I not mention figures when you last were here?” asked Madame.
“I have no recollection of it. I remember you gave vent to some pleasantry on the subject.”
“Pleasantry, sir?”
“I believe so. You spoke of sixty thousand pounds, or some such trifle.”
“That was no pleasantry, Roxhythe.”
My lord’s brows rose.
“I did you the honour to treat it as such, Madame.”
Madame studied the cushion tassel.
“Well? What does Charles want?”
“He will sign your treaty, Madame, for the annual allowances of two hundred thousand pounds paid quarterly. No less.”
Madame bit her lip.
“Impossible!”
Roxhythe took up his hat.
“In that case, Madame, we are wasting time. The negotiations need proceed no further.” He rose as he spoke.
Madame raised her hands.
“Oh, la-la! So haughty? No, no, sit down, Roxhythe! We must talk of this.”
Roxhythe relaxed again.
“What is there to talk of, Madame? Those are King Charles his terms. It but remains for you to put them before King Louis.”
“Shall we be quite honest?” said Madame, sweetly. “You name that figure—why?”
“It seems a fair price,” answered Roxhythe. “Or do you want me to be really honest?”
“I said so.”
“Very well. I am, as I was informed the other day, very quick to take impressions. I received one from you that led me to advise my master to ask that sum of Louis.”
“Aho! I wondered if you were as stupidly obtuse as you appeared. It seems you are not. I felicitate you, my lord. But I do not think I gave you such a decided impression.”
“You gave me to understand that Louis was prepared to go to a far greater sum than sixty thousand. The rest I gathered from mine own intuition, and various other sources.”
“My Lord Roxhythe, you are either a very clever man or else a fool. I do not think that Louis will go to that figure. One hundred thousand perhaps. But two hundred thousand! It is a very different matter.”
“You will see, Madame. It is King Charles his last word.”
She looked at him admiringly.
“You have unbounded confidence in yourself, Roxhythe. Do you tell me that that is my brother his last word? I seem to see your hand alone in it. You must be very sure.”
“I am very sure,” he replied.
“So was Lord Arundell sure when he asked two million.”
“But I, Madame, am not Lord Arundell.”
“No,” she sighed. “I would you were. You are quite certain?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Then we understand one another. I’ll give—King Charles his last word—to Louis. You are satisfied?”
He rose.
“Since I am assured of your support in the matter, yes, Madame.”
“You are audacity itself,” she said. “Will you wait on me—no, I’ll send you word what day. Are you staying with de Guiche as before?”
“No,” said my lord, possessing himself of her hand. “This time I am honouring Saint-Aignan.”
“How truly delightful for him!” she retaliated. “Well, you shall hear from me.”
Roxhythe kissed her hand.
“I shall await your commands, Madame. I have to thank you for receiving me today.”
“Did you see Madame?” asked Saint-Aignan of him, two hours later.
“I did,” said Roxhythe.
“Well? What of the interview?”
“She is the most charming, beautiful lady that I have ever known,” replied my lord.
“I consider that you have offered me your comfit-box!” laughed Saint-Aignan. “I am dumb, then?”
Roxhythe nodded approvingly.
“You should never give way to idle curiosity,” he said. He surveyed his friend critically. “And I do not think I like the mixture of salmon-pink and orange.”