"Oh!" protested the Marquise, "so soon, after so many delightful promises."
"You shall soon hear from me, Madame."
"Monsieur le Marquis, my copy is finished!" Bonbonne called from afar as he came running up,
"Good, very good!"
"There is nothing now but to read it through again and sign."
"I have not the time now, I will another day."
"Another day! But do you forget what you were saying just now?"
"I remember, I remember."
"A truce to delay, you said."
"The King cannot wait."
"But you forget your children, and the future of your house."
"I forget nothing, Bonbonne; I only go because I am obliged to. My children, the future of my line,—everything, you must remember, Bonbonne, is now secured."
"Your signature, only your signature is wanted."
"Look you, old friend," declared the Marquis, radiant with delight, "so firmly am I resolved duly to complete this matter that if I were to die before signing, I swear I would come back here from the other world,—and 'tis a long journey,—on purpose to append my signature. Now have I satisfied you? Then farewell."
So saying he hurriedly embraced his wife and children, and oblivious of all but King and Court, leapt into his coach, a younger man by twenty years, and rolled away for Paris.
But the Marquise and all the household, so happy a moment before, were left standing by the gates, sad, forsaken, dumb and despairing.
CHAPTER IX
VENUS AND PSYCHE
THE morning after his despatch to Grosbois, Louis XV.'s first word was to ask for the Marquis de Chauvelin and his first look to see if he had arrived. The Marquis had travelled all night and appeared at the King's first 'lever.'
"Good, Marquis, good," cried the King, "so here you are. Good Lord! what a long time you have been away!"
"Sire, 'tis the first, and it shall be the last time of my leaving you; if I quit you again, it will be for ever . . . But indeed the King is very gracious to think I have been long absent; I have been but four and twenty hours away."
"You think so, dear friend; well, Well, it is that confounded prophecy that keeps knelling in my ears. So, not seeing you at your usual post, I imagined you were dead, and then, you understand . . . ?"
"I understand perfectly. Sire."
"However, let us say no more about it. Here you are, that is the main point. Very true the Countess still bears us a grudge; she is angry with you for having said what you did to her, and annoyed with me for having recalled you to Court after insulting her so outrageously. But never heed her ill humour; time will smoothe every difficulty, and the King will give time a helping hand."
"I thank you, Sire."
"Now tell me, what have you been doing during your exile?"
"Just think, Sire, I came very near being converted."
"I understand you are beginning to repent having sung the seven mortal sins in verse."
"Oh! if I had never done worse than sing them!"
"My cousin of Conti was talking to me of your lines only yesterday; he was delighted with them."
"Sire, I was a young man then, and impromptus came easy to me. I was there, at the Ile-Adam, alone with seven charming women. The Prince de Conti was away at the chase, while I was left at home at the Château, and made the ladies . . . verses. Ah! 'twas a fine time, a glorious time, Sire."
"Marquis, do you take me for your Father Confessor, and is this what you mean by your repentance?"
"My Confessor,—ah! yes, Your Majesty is right; this very morning I had appointed to confer with a Camaldulensian father at Grosbois."
"Alas! poor man, what an opportunity for worming out your secrets he has missed! Should you have told him everything, Chauvelin?"
"Everything, without exception, Sire."
"Truly, 'twould have been a long sitting!"
