The Queen's Necklace - Alexandre Dumas père (electric book reader TXT) 📗

are all these."

"Oh, monseigneur, forgive me; you force me to confess that you the most delicate of men," and she blushed with the pleasure she had been so long restraining. But checking herself, she sat down and said, "Now, will your eminence give me my supper?"

The cardinal took off his cloak, and sat down also.

Supper was served in a few moments. Jeanne put on her mask before the servants came in.

"It is I who ought to wear a mask," said the cardinal, "for you are at home, among your own people."

Jeanne laughed, but did not take hers off. In spite of her pleasure and surprise, she made a good supper. The cardinal was a man of much talent, and from his great knowledge of the world and of women, he was a man difficult to contend with, and he thought that this country girl, full of pretension, but who, in spite of her pride, could not conceal her greediness, would be an easy conquest, worth undertaking on account of her beauty, and of a something piquant about her, very pleasing to a man "blase" like him. He therefore never took pains to be much on his guard with her; and she, more cunning than he thought, saw through his opinion of her, and tried to strengthen it by playing the provincial coquette, and appearing silly, that her adversary might be in reality weak in his over-confidence.

The cardinal thought her completely dazzled by the present he had made her--and so, indeed, she was; but he forgot that he himself was below the mark of the ambition of a woman like Jeanne.

"Come," said he, pouring out for her a glass of cyprus wine, "as you have signed your contract with me, you will not be unfriendly any more, countess."

"Oh no!"

"You will receive me here sometimes without repugnance?"

"I shall never be so ungrateful as to forget whose house this really is."

"Not mine."

"Oh yes, monseigneur."

"Do not contradict me, I advise you, or I shall begin to impose conditions."

"You take care on your part----"

"Of what?"

"Why, I am at home here, you know, and if your conditions are unreasonable, I shall call my servants----"

The cardinal laughed.

"Ah, you laugh, sir; you think if I call they will not come."

"Oh, you quite mistake, countess. I am nothing here, only your guest. Apropos," continued he, as if it had just entered his head, "have you heard anything more of the ladies who came to see you?"

"The ladies of the portrait?" said Jeanne, who, now knowing the queen, saw through the artifice.

"Yes, the ladies of the portrait."

"Monseigneur, you know them as well and even better than I do, I feel sure."

"Oh, countess, you do me wrong. Did you not express a wish to learn who they were?"

"Certainly; it is natural to desire to know your benefactors."

"Well, if knew, I should have told you."

"M. le Cardinal, you do know them."

"No."

"If you repeat that 'no,' I shall have to call you a liar."

"I shall know how to avenge that insult."

"How?"

"With a kiss."

"You know the portrait of Maria Theresa?"

"Certainly, but what of that?"

"That, having recognized this portrait, you must have had some suspicion of the person to whom it belonged."

"And why?"

"Because it was natural to think that the portrait of a mother would only be in the hands of her daughter."

"The queen!" cried the cardinal, with so truthful a tone of surprise that it duped even Jeanne. "Do you really think the queen came to see you?"

"And you did not suspect it?"

"Mon Dieu, no! how should I? I, who speak to you, am neither son, daughter, nor even relation of Maria Theresa, yet I have a portrait of her about me at this moment. Look," said he--and he drew out a snuff-box and showed it to her; "therefore you see that if I, who am in no way related to the imperial house, carry about such a portrait, another might do the same, and yet be a stranger."

Jeanne was silent--she had nothing to answer.

"Then it is your opinion," he went on, "that you have had a visit from the queen, Marie Antoinette."

"The queen and another lady."

"Madame de Polignac?"

"I do not know."

"Perhaps Madame de Lamballe?"

"A young lady, very beautiful and very serious."

"Oh, perhaps Mademoiselle de Taverney."

"It is possible; I do not know her."

"Well, if her majesty has really come to visit you, you are sure of her protection. It is a great step towards your fortune."

"I believe it, monseigneur."

"And her majesty was generous to you?"

"She gave me a hundred louis."

"And she is not rich, particularly now."

"That doubles my gratitude."

"Did she show much interest in you?"

"Very great."

"Then all goes well," said the prelate; "there only remains one thing now--to penetrate to Versailles."

The countess smiled.

"Ah, countess, it is not so easy."

She smiled again, more significantly than before.

"Really, you provincials," said he, "doubt nothing; because you have seen Versailles with the doors open, and stairs to go up, you think any one may open these doors and ascend these stairs. Have you seen the monsters of brass, of marble, and of lead, which adorn the park and the terraces?"

"Yes."

"Griffins, gorgons, ghouls, and other ferocious beasts. Well, you will find ten times as many, and more wicked, living animals between you and the favor of sovereigns."

"Your eminence will aid me to pass through the ranks of these monsters."

"I will try, but it will be difficult. And if you pronounce my name, if you discover your talisman, it will lose all its power."

"Happily, then, I am guarded by the immediate protection of the queen, and I shall enter Versailles with a good key."

"What key, countess?"

"Ah, Monsieur le Cardinal, that is my secret--or rather it is not, for if it were mine, I should feel bound to tell it to my generous protector."

"There is, then, an obstacle, countess?"

"Alas! yes, monseigneur. It is not my secret, and I must keep it. Let it suffice you to know that to-morrow I shall go to Versailles; that I shall be received, and, I have every reason to hope, well received."

The cardinal looked at her with wonder. "Ah, countess," said he, laughing, "I shall see if you will get in."

"You will push your curiosity so far as to follow me?"

"Exactly."

"Very well."

"Really, countess, you are a living enigma."

"One of those monsters who inhabit Versailles."

"Oh, you believe me a man of taste, do you not?"

"Certainly, monseigneur."

"Well, here I am at your knees, and I take your hand and kiss it. Should I do that if I thought you a monster?"

"I beg you, sir, to remember," said Jeanne coldly, "that I am neither a grisette nor an opera girl; that I am my own mistress, feeling myself the equal of any man in this kingdom. Therefore I shall take freely and spontaneously, when it shall please me, the man who will have gained my affections. Therefore, monseigneur, respect me a little, and, in me, the nobility to which we both belong."

The cardinal rose. "I see," said he, "you wish me to love you seriously."

"I do not say that; but I wish to be able to love you. When that day comes--if it does comes--you will easily find it out, believe me. If you do not, I will let you know it; for I feel young enough and attractive enough not to mind making the first advances, nor to fear a repulse."

"Countess, if it depends upon me, you shall love me."

"We shall see."

"You have already a friendship for me, have you not?"

"More than that."

"Oh! then we are at least half way. And you are a woman that I should adore, if----" He stopped and sighed.

"Well," said she, "if----"

"If you would permit it."

"Perhaps I shall, when I shall be independent of your assistance, and you can no longer suspect that I encourage you from interested motives."

"Then you forbid me to pay my court now?"

"Not at all; but there are other ways besides kneeling and kissing hands."

"Well, countess, let us hear; what will you permit?"

"All that is compatible with my tastes and duties."

"Oh, that is vague indeed."

"Stop! I was going to add--my caprices."

"I am lost!"

"You draw back?"

"No," said the cardinal, "I do not."

"Well, then, I want a proof."

"Speak."

"I want to go to the ball at the Opera."

"Well, countess, that only concerns yourself. Are you not free as air to go where you wish?"

"Ah, but you have not heard all. I want you to go with me."

"I to the Opera, countess!" said he, with a start of horror.

"See already how much your desire to please me is worth."

"A cardinal cannot go to a ball at the Opera, countess. It is as if I proposed to you to go into a public-house."

"Then a cardinal does not dance, I suppose?"

"Oh no!"

"But I have read that M. le Cardinal de Richelieu danced a saraband."

"Yes, before Anne of Austria."

"Before a queen," repeated Jeanne. "Perhaps you would do as much for a queen?"

The cardinal could not help blushing, dissembler as he was.

"Is it not natural," she continued, "that I should feel hurt when, after all your protestations, you will not do as much for me as you would for a queen?--especially when I only ask you to go concealed in a domino and a mask; besides, a man like you, who may do anything with impunity!"

The cardinal yielded to her flattery and her blandishments. Taking her hand, he said, "For you I will do anything, even the impossible."

"Thanks, monseigneur; you are really amiable. But now you have consented, I will let you off."

"No, no! he who does the work can alone claim the reward. Countess, I will attend you, but in a domino."

"We shall pass through the Rue St. Denis, close to the Opera," said the countess. "I will go in masked, buy a domino and a mask for you, and you can put them on in the carriage."

"That will do delightfully."

"Oh, monseigneur, you are very good! But, now I think of it, perhaps at the Hotel Rohan you might find a domino more to your taste than the one I should buy."

"Now, countess, that is unpardonable malice. Believe me if I go to the Opera, I shall be as surprised to find myself there as you were to find yourself supping tete-a-tete with a man not your husband."

Jeanne had nothing to reply to this. Soon a carriage without arms drove up; they both got in, and drove off at a rapid pace.


CHAPTER XXII.

SOME WORDS ABOUT THE OPERA.

The Opera, that temple of pleasure at Paris, was burned in the month of June, 1781. Twenty persons had perished in the ruins; and as it was the