Old Court Life in France, Volume II (of 2). Elliot Frances Minto Dickinson

Chavigny informed Richelieu that Mademoiselle de Lafayette had at once, and unhesitatingly, refused the hand of the Count. Richelieu only smiled. "I knew it. The King, my good Chavigny, is in love with her himself. She returns it. They understand each other. Chavigny, I must see this foolish girl, who ventures to mix herself up with his Majesty. I must personally acquaint myself with her feelings."

      "Your Eminence will find it most difficult to speak with her in private. The Duchesse de Sennécy proposes giving a masked ball, at which her Majesty and the Court will be present; would that suit your plans?"

      "Not at all," replied Richelieu. "When I speak there must be no mask. I must study her countenance. She is young and disingenuous. I shall read her inmost thoughts. She has not been long enough at Court to have learnt dissimulation. I must see her before the King leaves Paris. We can meet at my niece's, the Duchesse de Combalet."

      "Mademoiselle de Lafayette could only feel honoured by such a summons from your Eminence," replied Chavigny.

      "Yes, I fancy she will accept the offers I shall make her, unless she is an absolute idiot."

      Mademoiselle de Lafayette was duly invited to a déjeûner at the Palais Cardinal by the Duchesse de Combalet, who received her alone. During breakfast her hostess said everything that could flatter and please her. She praised her dress and her appearance. She was so simple, so unselfish, so different from the other maids of honour, the Duchess said. Then she went on to inform her that she knew the Cardinal had the highest opinion of her; that he had often expressed his admiration of her character and her person to herself, the Duchess. "It is very unusual with him, Mademoiselle, to speak to me about the Queen's ladies; he is too much engrossed with state affairs, too serious to notice them. But you are an exception; you have made a deep impression on my uncle."

      Louise bowed, grew red and white by turns, and listened in wondering silence.

      Suddenly the door opened, and Cardinal Richelieu appeared, followed by two favourite cats. Smiling benignly, he received the maid of honour with great condescension. Mademoiselle de Lafayette rose at his entrance, and was about to withdraw, when he took her hand and insisted on her reseating herself.

      The Duchesse de Combalet spoke with him on general subjects, and constantly appealed to Louise for her opinion. She gave it with her usual modest frankness. Everything she said was applauded by the Cardinal. He put forth all his powers to please her.

      In about half an hour a servant entered and whispered to the Duchess. She affected great annoyance at the interruption, and begged the Cardinal and her guest to excuse her for a quarter of an hour, while she gave some directions. "Besides," said she, and she turned with a meaning look to the maid of honour, "I know that his Eminence wants to have a little private conversation with you about our cousin De la Meilleraye, whom you have so cruelly refused. Poor man! he is in despair. I shall return in a few minutes." Saying which she kissed Mademoiselle de Lafayette on both cheeks, and withdrew.

      Richelieu and the maid of honour were now alone. The Cardinal was no longer the dissolute prelate of other days, the adorer of two queens of France, the slave of Madame de Chevreuse, the lover of Marion de l'Orme. The life of labour he led would have long ago killed any but a man of his iron will and calm temperament. He never slept more than three hours at a time, and literally worked day and night. At eight o'clock in the morning he was astir, ready to receive spies, generals, and ministers, suppliants, and princes, who were already waiting in the anteroom. He was as active as a Roman senator, with a hundred clients assembled in his portico. His cheeks were pinched and sunken; his face sallow; his thin lips colourless; his brow, a network of those fine wrinkles that come of excessive thought. Even his eyes were dull, and half concealed by his eyelids, though on occasions they would still shoot forth sparks of fire. The straight hair that lay upon his forehead, under his red calotte, was scanty and almost white. Altogether, his appearance was that of a man physically worn-out, and indicative of his painful illness and somewhat premature death. But the spirit of the man was strong within him, and a consciousness of latent power disclosed itself in every feature.

      As he leant back in a spacious arm-chair, the two cats nestled on his knees, he bent his half-closed eyes upon Louise with almost feline cunning. Those half-closed eyes alone betrayed his nature; otherwise, his countenance expressed nothing but tranquil enjoyment.

      "Mademoiselle de Lafayette," he said in a soft, musical voice that struck pleasantly upon the ear, "I have both to reproach you and to thank you." Louise looked at him with surprise. "Yes, I thank you for the favour with which I hear you speak of me; and I reproach you for having hitherto concealed from me your good opinion. I am desirous to see you become a member of my family. I hope you will marry my cousin. But, believe me, the ties of gratitude are stronger with me than those of blood. Mademoiselle, I wish to be your friend." Louise bowed her head with great respect, but felt bewildered.

      Richelieu piqued himself on being a great physiognomist. He had made a special study of the human countenance. He saw that the face of Mademoiselle de Lafayette was totally untroubled. Her perfect self-possession astonished him. The phrase he had uttered – "I wish to be your friend," solemn words, indeed, from the mouth of Richelieu – had caused in her no change of expression! Her composed demeanour was, in the eyes of the Cardinal, an additional reason for securing her as a partisan. He had before much desired to gain her to himself, but he now came to attach an immense importance to success.

      "I am very grateful for your Eminence's kind expressions," said Louise at last, with great modesty, but with equal firmness; "but I do not wish to marry. If the offer of your friendship involves any sacrifice of my freedom, I must, with sorrow, decline it. I seek nothing, your Eminence. I need no protection." There was a quiet dignity in her words and manner that took the Cardinal aback. He said nothing; but his eyes, now fully open and glistening, rested on the maid of honour with surprise and displeasure.

      Yet the real loftiness of soul she displayed, the indifference with which she ignored his offers, appeared to him so unaccountable that he could only imagine she wished to extract from him some terms more definite and decided. This idea gave him courage to recommence the attack.

      "Let us be frank," said he, smiling. "I know all."

      "What do you mean, monseigneur?"

      "The King loves you. The purity of his heart and his high principles may allow you to confess it. He loves you. And his interest, as well as your own, requires that we should be friends."

      Mademoiselle de Lafayette grew very pale; she trembled, but did not for a moment lose her presence of mind. "To what sort of friendship does your Eminence allude?"

      "An entire confidence on your part, and an active acknowledgment on mine."

      The Cardinal was on the point of promising her titles, estates, and pensions; but Mademoiselle de Lafayette, who, with downcast eyes, listened to him in silence, all at once looked up fixedly into his face. This look stopped him short.

      "Your Eminence," said she, "can only wish me to give my personal confidence. In honour I could promise no other. But I have no secrets, no concealments. I am without ambition, I desire no favour. Besides, I am sure that your Eminence will at once understand me when I say – that, if ever it were the pleasure of his Majesty to repose confidence in me —there is no temptation, no power on earth, that would induce me to betray it." As she spoke, she looked straight at the Cardinal. The colour returned to her cheeks, and she sat erect – gentle, yet infinitely bold.

      Richelieu reddened, but he suppressed his rising indignation. "The confidence of a great King," replied he solemnly, a dark fire darting from his eyes, "can only be properly accepted when the person to whom it is addressed is capable of offering real assistance to the sovereign. I propose, Mademoiselle de Lafayette, to render you capable of imparting such assistance. Whatever may be your natural sense and penetration, this is an occasion in which experience alone is valuable."

      "But does not your Eminence think that rectitude of purpose – "

      "It is evident that you are little versed in the intrigues of courts, mademoiselle," answered he loftily, eying her with haughty disdain. "Perhaps some day you will discover that the offer I have made you of my esteem and assistance is not to be despised."

      "No