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The Refugees by Arthur Conan Doyle

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It was the sort of window which was common in Paris about the end of the
seventeenth century. It was high, mullioned, with a broad transom
across the centre, and above the middle of the transom a tiny coat of
arms--three caltrops gules upon a field argent--let into the
diamond-paned glass. Outside there projected a stout iron rod, from
which hung a gilded miniature of a bale of wool which swung and squeaked
with every puff of wind. Beyond that again were the houses of the other
side, high, narrow, and prim, slashed with diagonal wood-work in front,
and topped with a bristle of sharp gables and corner turrets. Between
were the cobble-stones of the Rue St. Martin and the clatter of
innumerable feet.

Inside, the window was furnished with a broad bancal of brown stamped
Spanish leather, where the family might recline and have an eye from
behind the curtains on all that was going forward in the busy world
beneath them. Two of them sat there now, a man and a woman, but their
backs were turned to the spectacle, and their faces to the large and
richly furnished room. From time to time they stole a glance at each
other, and their eyes told that they needed no other sight to make them

Nor was it to be wondered at, for they were a well-favoured pair.
She was very young, twenty at the most, with a face which was pale,
indeed, and yet of a brilliant pallor, which was so clear and fresh, and
carried with it such a suggestion of purity and innocence, that one
would not wish its maiden grace to be marred by an intrusion of colour.
Her features were delicate and sweet, and her blue-black hair and long
dark eyelashes formed a piquant contrast to her dreamy gray eyes and her
ivory skin. In her whole expression there was something quiet and
subdued, which was accentuated by her simple dress of black taffeta, and
by the little jet brooch and bracelet which were her sole ornaments.
Such was Adele Catinat, the only daughter of the famous Huguenot

But if her dress was sombre, it was atoned for by the magnificence of
her companion. He was a man who might have been ten years her senior,
with a keen soldier face, small well-marked features, a carefully
trimmed black moustache, and a dark hazel eye which might harden to
command a man, or soften to supplicate a woman, and be successful at
either. His coat was of sky-blue, slashed across with silver braidings,
and with broad silver shoulder-straps on either side. A vest of white
calamanca peeped out from beneath it, and knee-breeches of the same
disappeared into high polished boots with gilt spurs upon the heels.
A silver-hilted rapier and a plumed cap lying upon a settle beside him
completed a costume which was a badge of honour to the wearer, for any
Frenchman would have recognised it as being that of an officer in the
famous Blue Guard of Louis the Fourteenth. A trim, dashing soldier he
looked, with his curling black hair and well-poised head. Such he had
proved himself before now in the field, too, until the name of Amory de
Catinat had become conspicuous among the thousands of the valiant lesser
_noblesse_ who had flocked into the service of the king.

They were first cousins, these two, and there was just sufficient
resemblance in the clear-cut features to recall the relationship.
De Catinat was sprung from a noble Huguenot family, but having lost his
parents early he had joined the army, and had worked his way without
influence and against all odds to his present position. His father's
younger brother, however, finding every path to fortune barred to him
through the persecution to which men of his faith were already
subjected, had dropped the "de" which implied his noble descent, and he
had taken to trade in the city of Paris, with such success that he was
now one of the richest and most prominent citizens of the town. It was
under his roof that the guardsman now sat, and it was his only daughter
whose white hand he held in his own.

"Tell me, Adele," said he, "why do you look troubled?"

"I am not troubled, Amory,"

"Come, there is just one little line between those curving brows. Ah, I
can read you, you see, as a shepherd reads the sky."

"It is nothing, Amory, but--"

"But what?"

"You leave me this evening."

"But only to return to-morrow."

"And must you really, really go to-night?"

"It would be as much as my commission is worth to be absent. Why, I am
on duty to-morrow morning outside the king's bedroom! After chapel-time
Major de Brissac will take my place, and then I am free once more."

"Ah, Amory, when you talk of the king and the court and the grand
ladies, you fill me with wonder."

"And why with wonder?"

"To think that you who live amid such splendour should stoop to the
humble room of a mercer."

"Ah, but what does the room contain?"

"There is the greatest wonder of all. That you who pass your days amid
such people, so beautiful, so witty, should think me worthy of your
love, me, who am such a quiet little mouse, all alone in this great
house, so shy and so backward! It is wonderful!"

"Every man has his own taste," said her cousin, stroking the tiny hand.
"It is with women as with flowers. Some may prefer the great brilliant
sunflower, or the rose, which is so bright and large that it must ever
catch the eye. But give me the little violet which hides among the
mosses, and yet is so sweet to look upon, and sheds its fragrance round
it. But still that line upon your brow, dearest."

"I was wishing that father would return."

"And why? Are you so lonely, then?"

Her pale face lit up with a quick smile. "I shall not be lonely until
to-night. But I am always uneasy when he is away. One hears so much
now of the persecution of our poor brethren."

"Tut! my uncle can defy them."

"He has gone to the provost of the Mercer Guild about this notice of the
quartering of the dragoons."

"Ah, you have not told me of that."

"Here it is." She rose and took up a slip of blue paper with a red seal
dangling from it which lay upon the table. His strong, black brows
knitted together as he glanced at it.

"Take notice," it ran, "that you, Theophile Catinat, cloth-mercer of
the Rue St. Martin, are hereby required to give shelter and rations to
twenty men of the Languedoc Blue Dragoons under Captain Dalbert, until
such time as you receive a further notice. [Signed] De Beaupre
(Commissioner of the King)."

De Catinat knew well how this method of annoying Huguenots had been
practised all over France, but he had flattered himself that his own
position at court would have insured his kinsman from such an outrage.
He threw the paper down with an exclamation of anger.

"When do they come?"

"Father said to-night."

"Then they shall not be here long. To-morrow I shall have an order to
remove them. But the sun has sunk behind St. Martin's Church, and I
should already be upon my way."

"No, no; you must not go yet."

"I would that I could give you into your father's charge first, for I
fear to leave you alone when these troopers may come. And yet no excuse
will avail me if I am not at Versailles. But see, a horseman has
stopped before the door. He is not in uniform. Perhaps he is a
messenger from your father."

The girl ran eagerly to the window, and peered out, with her hand
resting upon her cousin's silver-corded shoulder.

"Ah!" she cried, "I had forgotten. It is the man from America.
Father said that he would come to-day."

"The man from America!" repeated the soldier, in a tone of surprise, and
they both craned their necks from the window. The horseman, a sturdy,
broad-shouldered young man, clean-shaven and crop-haired, turned his
long, swarthy face and his bold features in their direction as he ran
his eyes over the front of the house. He had a soft-brimmed gray hat
of a shape which was strange to Parisian eyes, but his sombre clothes
and high boots were such as any citizen might have worn. Yet his
general appearance was so unusual that a group of townsfolk had already
assembled round him, staring with open mouth at his horse and himself.
A battered gun with an extremely long barrel was fastened by the stock
to his stirrup, while the muzzle stuck up into the air behind him.
At each holster was a large dangling black bag, and a gaily coloured
red-slashed blanket was rolled up at the back of his saddle. His horse,
a strong-limbed dapple-gray, all shiny with sweat above, and all caked
with mud beneath, bent its fore knees as it stood, as though it were
overspent. The rider, however, having satisfied himself as to the
house, sprang lightly out of his saddle, and disengaging his gun, his
blanket, and his bags, pushed his way unconcernedly through the gaping
crowd and knocked loudly at the door.

"Who is he, then?" asked De Catinat. "A Canadian? I am almost one
myself. I had as many friends on one side of the sea as on the other.
Perchance I know him. There are not so many white faces yonder, and in
two years there was scarce one from the Saguenay to Nipissing that I had
not seen."

"Nay, he is from the English provinces, Amory. But he speaks our
tongue. His mother was of our blood."

"And his name?"

"Is Amos--Amos--ah, those names! Yes, Green, that was it--Amos Green.
His father and mine have done much trade together, and now his son, who,
as I understand, has lived ever in the woods, is sent here to see
something of men and cities. Ah, my God! what can have happened now?"

A sudden chorus of screams and cries had broken out from the passage
beneath, with the shouting of a man and the sound of rushing steps.
In an instant De Catinat was half-way down the stairs, and was staring
in amazement at the scene in the hall beneath.

Two maids stood, screaming at the pitch of their lungs, at either side.
In the centre the aged man-servant Pierre, a stern old Calvinist, whose
dignity had never before been shaken, was spinning round, waving his
arms, and roaring so that he might have been heard at the Louvre.
Attached to the gray worsted stocking which covered his fleshless calf
was a fluffy black hairy ball, with one little red eye glancing up, and
the gleam of two white teeth where it held its grip. At the shrieks,
the young stranger, who had gone out to his horse, came rushing back,
and plucking the creature off, he slapped it twice across the snout, and
plunged it head-foremost back into the leather bag from which it had

"It is nothing," said he, speaking in excellent French; "it is only a

"Ah, my God!" cried Pierre, wiping the drops from his brow. "Ah, it has
aged me five years! I was at the door, bowing to monsieur, and in a
moment it had me from behind."

"It was my fault for leaving the bag loose. The creature was but pupped
the day we left New York, six weeks come Tuesday. Do I speak with my
father's friend, Monsieur Catinat?"

"No, monsieur," said the guardsman, from the staircase. "My uncle is
out, but I am Captain de Catinat, at your service, and here is
Mademoiselle Catinat, who is your hostess."

The stranger ascended the stair, and paid his greetings to them both
with the air of a man who was as shy as a wild deer, and yet who had
steeled himself to carry a thing through. He walked with them to the
sitting-room, and then in an instant was gone again, and they heard his
feet thudding upon the stairs. Presently he was back, with a lovely
glossy skin in his hands. "The bear is for your father, mademoiselle,"
said he. "This little skin I have brought from America for you. It is
but a trifle, and yet it may serve to make a pair of mocassins or a

Adele gave a cry of delight as her hands sank into the depths of its
softness. She might well admire it, for no king in the world could have
had a finer skin. "Ah, it is beautiful, monsieur," she cried; "and what
creature is it? and where did it come from?"

"It is a black fox. I shot it myself last fall up near the Iroquois
villages at Lake Oneida."

She pressed it to her cheek, her white face showing up like marble
against its absolute blackness. "I am sorry my father is not here to
welcome you, monsieur," she said; "but I do so very heartily in his
place. Your room is above. Pierre will show you to it, if you wish."

"My room? For what?"

"Why, monsieur, to sleep in!"

"And must I sleep in a room?"

De Catinat laughed at the gloomy face of the American.

"You shall not sleep there if you do not wish," said he.

The other brightened at once and stepped across to the further window,
which looked down upon the court-yard. "Ah," he cried. "There is a
beech-tree there, mademoiselle, and if I might take my blanket out
yonder, I should like it better than any room. In winter, indeed, one
must do it, but in summer I am smothered with a ceiling pressing down
upon me."

"You are not from a town then?" said De Catinat.

"My father lives in New York--two doors from the house of Peter
Stuyvesant, of whom you must have heard. He is a very hardy man, and he
can do it, but I--even a few days of Albany or of Schenectady are enough
for me. My life has been in the woods."

"I am sure my father would wish you to sleep where you like and to do
what you like, as long as it makes you happy."

"I thank you, mademoiselle. Then I shall take my things out there, and
I shall groom my horse."

"Nay, there is Pierre."

"I am used to doing it myself."

"Then I will come with you," said De Catinat, "for I would have a word
with you. Until to-morrow, then, Adele, farewell!"

"Until to-morrow, Amory."

The two young men passed downstairs together, and the guardsman followed
the American out into the yard.

"You have had a long journey," he said.

"Yes; from Rouen."

"Are you tired?"

"No; I am seldom tired."

"Remain with the lady, then, until her father comes back."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I have to go, and she might need a protector."

The stranger said nothing, but he nodded, and throwing off his black
coat, set to work vigorously rubbing down his travel-stained horse.



It was the morning after the guardsman had returned to his duties.
Eight o'clock had struck on the great clock of Versailles, and it was
almost time for the monarch to rise. Through all the long corridors and
frescoed passages of the monster palace there was a subdued hum and
rustle, with a low muffled stir of preparation, for the rising of the
king was a great state function in which many had a part to play.
A servant with a steaming silver saucer hurried past, bearing it to
Monsieur de St. Quentin, the state barber. Others, with clothes thrown
over their arms, bustled down the passage which led to the ante-chamber.
The knot of guardsmen in their gorgeous blue and silver coats
straightened themselves up and brought their halberds to attention,
while the young officer, who had been looking wistfully out of the
window at some courtiers who were laughing and chatting on the terraces,
turned sharply upon his heel, and strode over to the white and gold door
of the royal bedroom.

He had hardly taken his stand there before the handle was very gently
turned from within, the door revolved noiselessly upon its hinges, and a
man slid silently through the aperture, closing it again behind him.

"Hush!" said he, with his finger to his thin, precise lips, while his
whole clean-shaven face and high-arched brows were an entreaty and a
warning. "The king still sleeps."

The words were whispered from one to another among the group who had
assembled outside the door. The speaker, who was Monsieur Bontems, head
_valet de Chambre_, gave a sign to the officer of the guard, and led him
into the window alcove from which he had lately come.

"Good-morning, Captain de Catinat," said he, with a mixture of
familiarity and respect in his manner.

"Good-morning, Bontems. How has the king slept?"


"But it is his time."


"You will not rouse him yet?"

"In seven and a half minutes." The valet pulled out the little round
watch which gave the law to the man who _was_ the law to twenty millions
of people.

"Who commands at the main guard?"

"Major de Brissac."

"And you will be here?"

"For four hours I attend the king."

"Very good. He gave me some instructions for the officer of the guard,
when he was alone last night after the _petit coucher_. He bade me to
say that Monsieur de Vivonne was not to be admitted to the _grand
lever_. You are to tell him so."

"I shall do so."

"Then, should a note come from _her_--you understand me, the new one--"

"Madame de Maintenon?"

"Precisely. But it is more discreet not to mention names. Should she
send a note, you will take it and deliver it quietly when the king gives
you an opportunity."

"It shall be done."

"But if the other should come, as is possible enough--the other, you
understand me, the former--"

"Madame de Montespan."

"Ah, that soldierly tongue of yours, captain! Should she come, I say,
you will gently bar her way, with courteous words, you understand, but
on no account is she to be permitted to enter the royal room."

"Very good, Bontems."

"And now we have but three minutes."

He strode through the rapidly increasing group of people in the corridor
with an air of proud humility as befitted a man who, if he was a valet,
was at least the king of valets, by being the valet of the king. Close
by the door stood a line of footmen, resplendent in their powdered wigs,
red plush coats, and silver shoulder knots.

"Is the officer of the oven here?" asked Bontems.

"Yes, sir," replied a functionary who bore in front of him an enamelled
tray heaped with pine shavings.

"The opener of the shutters?"

"Here, sir."

"The remover of the taper?"

"Here, sir."

"Be ready for the word." He turned the handle once more, and slipped
into the darkened room.

It was a large square apartment, with two high windows upon the further
side, curtained across with priceless velvet hangings. Through the
chinks the morning sun shot a few little gleams, which widened as they
crossed the room to break in bright blurs of light upon the
primrose-tinted wall. A large arm-chair stood by the side of the
burnt-out fire, shadowed over by the huge marble mantel-piece, the back
of which was carried up twining and curving into a thousand arabesque
and armorial devices until it blended with the richly painted ceiling.
In one corner a narrow couch with a rug thrown across it showed where
the faithful Bontems had spent the night.

In the very centre of the chamber there stood a large four-post bed,
with curtains of Gobelin tapestry looped back from the pillow. A square
of polished rails surrounded it, leaving a space some five feet in width
all round between the enclosure and the bedside. Within this enclosure,
or _ruelle_, stood a small round table, covered over with a white
napkin, upon which lay a silver platter and an enamelled cup, the one
containing a little Frontiniac wine and water, the other bearing three
slices of the breast of a chicken, in case the king should hunger during
the night.

As Bontems passed noiselessly across the room, his feet sinking into the
moss-like carpet, there was the heavy close smell of sleep in the air,
and he could near the long thin breathing of the sleeper. He passed
through the opening in the rails, and stood, watch in hand, waiting for
the exact instant when the iron routine of the court demanded that the
monarch should be roused. Beneath him, from under the costly green
coverlet of Oriental silk, half buried in the fluffy Valenciennes lace
which edged the pillow, there protruded a round black bristle of
close-cropped hair, with the profile of a curving nose and petulant lip
outlined against the white background. The valet snapped his watch, and
bent over the sleeper.

"I have the honour to inform your Majesty that it is half-past eight,"
said he.

"Ah!" The king slowly opened his large dark-brown eyes, made the sign of
the cross, and kissed a little dark reliquary which he drew from under
his night-dress. Then he sat up in bed, and blinked about him with the
air of a man who is collecting his thoughts.

"Did you give my orders to the officer of the guard, Bontems?" he asked.

"Yes, sire."

"Who is on duty?"

"Major de Brissac at the main guard, and Captain de Catinat in the

"De Catinat! Ah, the young man who stopped my horse at Fontainebleau.
I remember him. You may give the signal, Bontems."

The chief valet walked swiftly across to the door and threw it open. In
rushed the officer of the ovens and the four red-coated, white-wigged
footmen, ready-handed, silent-footed, each intent upon his own duties.
The one seized upon Bontem's rug and couch, and in an instant had
whipped them off into an ante-chamber, another had carried away the
_en cas_ meal and the silver taper-stand; while a third drew back the
great curtains of stamped velvet and let a flood of light into the
apartment. Then, as the flames were already flickering among the pine
shavings in the fireplace, the officer of the ovens placed two round
logs crosswise above them, for the morning air was chilly, and withdrew
with his fellow-servants.

They were hardly gone before a more august group entered the
bed-chamber. Two walked together in front, the one a youth little over
twenty years of age, middle-sized, inclining to stoutness, with a slow,
pompous bearing, a well-turned leg, and a face which was comely enough
in a mask-like fashion, but which was devoid of any shadow of
expression, except perhaps of an occasional lurking gleam of mischievous
humour. He was richly clad in plum-coloured velvet, with a broad band
of blue silk; across his breast, and the glittering edge of the order of
St. Louis protruding from under it. His companion was a man of forty,
swarthy, dignified, and solemn, in a plain but rich dress of black silk,
with slashes of gold at the neck and sleeves. As the pair faced the
king there was sufficient resemblance between the three faces to show
that they were of one blood, and to enable a stranger to guess that the
older was Monsieur, the younger brother of the king, while the other was
Louis the Dauphin, his only legitimate child, and heir to a throne to
which in the strange workings of Providence neither he nor his sons were
destined to ascend.

Strong as was the likeness between the three faces, each with the
curving Bourbon nose, the large full eye, and the thick Hapsburg
under-lip, their common heritage from Anne of Austria, there was still a
vast difference of temperament and character stamped upon their
features. The king was now in his six-and-fortieth year, and the
cropped black head was already thinning a little on the top, and shading
away to gray over the temples. He still, however, retained much of the
beauty of his youth, tempered by the dignity and sternness which
increased with his years. His dark eyes were full of expression, and
his clear-cut features were the delight of the sculptor and the painter.
His firm and yet sensitive mouth and his thick, well-arched brows gave
an air of authority and power to his face, while the more subdued
expression which was habitual to his brother marked the man whose whole
life had been spent in one long exercise of deference and
self-effacement. The dauphin, on the other hand, with a more regular
face than his father, had none of that quick play of feature when
excited, or that kingly serenity when composed, which had made a shrewd
observer say that Louis, if he were not the greatest monarch that ever
lived, was at least the best fitted to act the part.

Behind the king's son and the king's brother there entered a little
group of notables and of officials whom duty had called to this daily
ceremony. There was the grand master of the robes, the first lord of
the bed-chamber, the Duc du Maine, a pale youth clad in black velvet,
limping heavily with his left leg, and his little brother, the young
Comte de Toulouse, both of them the illegitimate sons of Madame de
Montespan and the king. Behind them, again, was the first valet of the
wardrobe, followed by Fagon, the first physician, Telier, the head
surgeon, and three pages in scarlet and gold who bore the royal clothes.
Such were the partakers in the family entry, the highest honour which
the court of France could aspire to.

Bontems had poured on the king's hands a few drops of spirits of wine,
catching them again in a silver dish; and the first lord of the
bedchamber had presented the bowl of holy water with which he made the
sign of the cross, muttering to himself the short office of the Holy
Ghost. Then, with a nod to his brother and a short word of greeting to
the dauphin and to the Due du Maine, he swung his legs over the side of
the bed and sat in his long silken night-dress, his little white feet
dangling from beneath it--a perilous position for any man to assume,
were it not that he had so heart-felt a sense of his own dignity that he
could not realise that under any circumstances it might be compromised
in the eyes of others. So he sat, the master of France, yet the slave
to every puff of wind, for a wandering draught had set him shivering and
shaking. Monsieur de St. Quentin, the noble barber, flung a purple
dressing-gown over the royal shoulders, and placed a long many-curled
court wig upon his head, while Bontems drew on his red stockings and
laid before him his slippers of embroidered velvet. The monarch thrust
his feet into them, tied his dressing-gown, and passed out to the
fireplace, where he settled himself down in his easy-chair, holding out
his thin delicate hands towards the blazing logs, while the others stood
round in a semicircle, waiting for the _grand lever_ which was to

"How is this, messieurs?" the king asked suddenly, glancing round him
with a petulant face. "I am conscious of a smell of scent. Surely none
of you would venture to bring perfume into the presence, knowing, as you
must all do, how offensive it is to me."

The little group glanced from one to the other with protestations of
innocence. The faithful Bontems, however, with his stealthy step, had
passed along behind them, and had detected the offender.

"My lord of Toulouse, the smell comes from you," he said.

The Comte de Toulouse, a little ruddy-cheeked lad, flushed up at the

"If you please, sire, it is possible that Mademoiselle de Grammont may
have wet my coat with her casting-bottle when we all played together at
Marly yesterday," he stammered. "I had not observed it, but if it
offends your Majesty--"

"Take it away! take it away!" cried the king. "Pah! it chokes and
stifles me! Open the lower casement, Bontems. No; never heed, now that
he is gone. Monsieur de St. Quentin, is not this our shaving morning?"

"Yes, sire; all is ready."

"Then why not proceed? It is three minutes after the accustomed time.
To work, sir; and you, Bontems, give word for the _grand lever_."

It was obvious that the king was not in a very good humour that morning.
He darted little quick questioning glances at his brother and at his
sons, but whatever complaint or sarcasm may have trembled upon his lips,
was effectually stifled by De St. Quentin's ministrations. With the
nonchalance born of long custom, the official covered the royal chin
with soap, drew the razor swiftly round it, and sponged over the surface
with spirits of wine. A nobleman then helped to draw on the king's
black velvet _haut-de-chausses_, a second assisted in arranging them,
while a third drew the night-gown over the shoulders, and handed the
royal shirt, which had been warming before the fire. His
diamond-buckled shoes, his gaiters, and his scarlet inner vest were
successively fastened by noble courtiers, each keenly jealous of his own
privilege, and over the vest was placed the blue ribbon with the cross
of the Holy Ghost in diamonds, and that of St. Louis tied with red.
To one to whom the sight was new, it might have seemed strange to see
the little man, listless, passive, with his eyes fixed thoughtfully on
the burning logs, while this group of men, each with a historic name,
bustled round him, adding a touch here and a touch there, like a knot of
children with a favourite doll. The black undercoat was drawn on, the
cravat of rich lace adjusted, the loose overcoat secured, two
handkerchiefs of costly point carried forward upon an enamelled saucer,
and thrust by separate officials into each side pocket, the silver and
ebony cane laid to hand, and the monarch was ready for the labours of
the day.

During the half-hour or so which had been occupied in this manner there
had been a constant opening and closing of the chamber door, and a
muttering of names from the captain of the guard to the attendant in
charge, and from the attendant in charge to the first gentleman of the
chamber, ending always in the admission of some new visitor. Each as he
entered bowed profoundly three times, as a salute to majesty, and then
attached himself to his own little clique or coterie, to gossip in a low
voice over the news, the weather, and the plans of the day. Gradually
the numbers increased, until by the time the king's frugal first
breakfast of bread and twice watered wine had been carried in, the large
square chamber was quite filled with a throng of men many of whom had
helped to make the epoch the most illustrious of French history.
Here, close by the king, was the harsh but energetic Louvois,
all-powerful now since the death of his rival Colbert, discussing a
question of military organisation with two officers, the one a tall and
stately soldier, the other a strange little figure, undersized and
misshapen, but bearing the insignia of a marshal of France, and owning a
name which was of evil omen over the Dutch frontier, for Luxembourg was
looked upon already as the successor of Conde, even as his companion
Vauban was of Turenne. Beside them, a small white-haired clerical with
a kindly face, Pere la Chaise, confessor to the king, was whispering his
views upon Jansenism to the portly Bossuet, the eloquent Bishop of
Meaux, and to the tall thin young Abbe de Fenelon, who listened with a
clouded brow, for it was suspected that his own opinions were tainted
with the heresy in question. There, too, was Le Brun, the painter,
discussing art in a small circle which contained his fellow-workers
Verrio and Laguerre, the architects Blondel and Le Notre, and sculptors
Girardon, Puget, Desjardins, and Coysevox, whose works had done so much
to beautify the new palace of the king. Close to the door, Racine, with
his handsome face wreathed in smiles, was chatting with the poet Boileau
and the architect Mansard, the three laughing and jesting with the
freedom which was natural to the favourite servants of the king, the
only subjects who might walk unannounced and without ceremony into and
out of his chamber.

"What is amiss with him this morning?" asked Boileau in a whisper,
nodding his head in the direction of the royal group. "I fear that his
sleep has not improved his temper."

"He becomes harder and harder to amuse," said Racine, shaking his head.
"I am to be at Madame De Maintenon's room at three to see whether a page
or two of the _Phedre_ may not work a change."

"My friend," said the architect, "do you not think that madame herself
might be a better consoler than your _Phedre_?"

"Madame is a wonderful woman. She has brains, she has heart, she has
tact--she is admirable."

"And yet she has one gift too many."

"And that is?"


"Pooh! What matter her years when she can carry them like thirty?
What an eye! What an arm! And besides, my friends, he is not himself a
boy any longer."

"Ah, but that is another thing."

"A man's age is an incident, a woman's a calamity."

"Very true. But a young man consults his eye, and an older man his ear.
Over forty, it is the clever tongue which wins; under it, the pretty

"Ah, you rascal! Then you have made up your mind that five-and-forty
years with tact will hold the field against nine-and-thirty with beauty.
Well, when your lady has won, she will doubtless remember who were the
first to pay court to her."

"But I think that you are wrong, Racine."

"Well, we shall see."

"And if you are wrong--"

"Well, what then?"

"Then it may be a little serious for you."

"And why?"

"The Marquise de Montespan has a memory."

"Her influence may soon be nothing more."

"Do not rely too much upon it, my friend. When the Fontanges came up
from Provence, with her blue eyes and her copper hair, it was in every
man's mouth that Montespan had had her day. Yet Fontanges is six feet
under a church crypt, and the marquise spent two hours with the king
last week. She has won once, and may again."

"Ah, but this is a very different rival. This is no slip of a country
girl, but the cleverest woman in France."

"Pshaw, Racine, you know our good master well, or you should, for you
seem to have been at his elbow since the days of the Fronde. Is he a
man, think you, to be amused forever by sermons, or to spend his days at
the feet of a lady of that age, watching her at her tapestry-work, and
fondling her poodle, when all the fairest faces and brightest eyes of
France are as thick in his _salons_ as the tulips in a Dutch flower-bed?
No, no, it will be the Montespan, or if not she, some younger beauty."

"My dear Boileau, I say again that her sun is setting. Have you not
heard the news?"

"Not a word."

"Her brother, Monsieur de Vivonne, has been refused the _entre_."


"But it is a fact."

"And when?"

"This very morning."

"From whom had you it?"

"From De Catinat, the captain of the guard. He had his orders to bar
the way to him."

"Ha! then the king does indeed mean mischief. That is why his brow is
so cloudy this morning, then. By my faith, if the marquise has the
spirit with which folk credit her, he may find that it was easier to win
her than to slight her."

"Ay; the Mortemarts are no easy race to handle."

"Well, heaven send him a safe way out of it! But who is this gentleman?
His face is somewhat grimmer than those to which the court is
accustomed. Ha! the king catches sight of him, and Louvois beckons to
him to advance. By my faith, he is one who would be more at his ease in
a tent than under a painted ceiling."

The stranger who had attracted Racine's attention was a tall thin man,
with a high aquiline nose, stern fierce gray eyes, peeping out from
under tufted brows, and a countenance so lined and marked by age, care,
and stress of weather that it stood out amid the prim courtier faces
which surrounded it as an old hawk might in a cage of birds of gay
plumage. He was clad in a sombre-coloured suit which had become usual
at court since the king had put aside frivolity and Fontanges, but the
sword which hung from his waist was no fancy rapier, but a good
brass-hilted blade in a stained leather-sheath, which showed every sign
of having seen hard service. He had been standing near the door, his
black-feathered beaver in his hand, glancing with a half-amused,
half-disdainful expression at the groups of gossips around him, but at
the sign from the minister of war he began to elbow his way forward,
pushing aside in no very ceremonious fashion all who barred his passage.

Louis possessed in a high degree the royal faculty of recognition.
"It is years since I have seen him, but I remember his face well," said
he, turning to his minister. "It is the Comte de Frontenac, is it not?"

"Yes, sire," answered Louvois; "it is indeed Louis de Buade, Comte de
Frontenac, and formerly governor of Canada."

"We are glad to see you once more at our _lever_," said the monarch, as
the old nobleman stooped his head, and kissed the white hand which was
extended to him. "I hope that the cold of Canada has not chilled the
warmth of your loyalty."

"Only death itself, sire, would be cold enough for that."

"Then I trust that it may remain to us for many long years. We would
thank you for the care and pains which you have spent upon our province,
and if we have recalled you, it is chiefly that we would fain hear from
your own lips how all things go there. And first, as the affairs of God
take precedence of those of France, how does the conversion of the
heathen prosper?"

"We cannot complain, sire. The good fathers, both Jesuits and
Recollets, have done their best, though indeed they are both rather
ready to abandon the affairs of the next world in order to meddle with
those of this."

"What say you to that, father?" asked Louis, glancing, with a twinkle of
the eyes, at his Jesuit confessor.

"I say, sire, that when the affairs of this world have a bearing upon
those of the next, it is indeed the duty of a good priest, as of every
other good Catholic, to guide them right."

"That is very true, sire," said De Frontenac, with an angry flush upon
his swarthy cheek; "but as long as your Majesty did me the honour to
intrust those affairs no my own guidance, I would brook no interference
in the performance of my duties, whether the meddler were clad in coat
or cassock."

"Enough, sir, enough!" said Louis sharply. "I had asked you about the

"They prosper, sire. There are Iroquois at the Sault and the mountain,
Hurons at Lorette, and Algonquins along the whole river _cotes_ from
Tadousac in the East to Sault la Marie, and even the great plains of the
Dakotas, who have all taken the cross as their token. Marquette has
passed down the river of the West to preach among the Illinois, and
Jesuits have carried the Gospel to the warriors of the Long House in
their wigwams at Onondaga."

"I may add, your Majesty," said Pere la Chaise, "that in leaving the
truth there, they have too often left their lives with it."

"Yes, sire, it is very true," cried De Frontenac cordially. "Your
Majesty has many brave men within your domains, but none braver than
these. They have come back up the Richelieu River from the Iroquois
villages with their nails gone, their fingers torn out, a cinder where
their eye should be, and the scars of the pine splinters as thick upon
their bodies as the _fleurs-de-lis_ on yonder curtain. Yet, with a
month of nursing from the good Ursulines, they have used their remaining
eye to guide them back to the Indian country once more, where even the
dogs have been frightened at their haggled faces and twisted limbs."

"And you have suffered this?" cried Louis hotly. "You allow these
infamous assassins to live?"

"I have asked for troops, sire."

"And I have sent some."

"One regiment."

"The Carignan-Saliere. I have no better in my service.

"But more is needed, sire."

"There are the Canadians themselves. Have you not a militia? Could you
not raise force enough to punish these rascally murderers of God's
priests? I had always understood that you were a soldier."

De Frontenac's eyes flashed, and a quick answer seemed for an instant to
tremble upon his lips, but with an effort the fiery old man restrained
himself. "Your Majesty will learn best whether I am a soldier or not,"
said he, "by asking those who have seen me at Seneffe, Mulhausen,
Salzbach, and half a score of other places where I had the honour of
upholding your Majesty's cause."

"Your services have not been forgotten."

"It is just because I am a soldier and have seen something of war that I
know how hard it is to penetrate into a country much larger than the
Lowlands, all thick with forest and bog, with a savage lurking behind
every tree, who, if he has not learned to step in time or to form line,
can at least bring down the running caribou at two hundred paces, and
travel three leagues to your one. And then when you have at last
reached their villages, and burned their empty wigwams and a few acres
of maize fields, what the better are you then? You can but travel back
again to your own land with a cloud of unseen men lurking behind you,
and a scalp-yell for every straggler. You are a soldier yourself, sire.
I ask you if such a war is an easy task for a handful of soldiers, with
a few _censitaires_ straight from the plough, and a troop of
_coureurs-de-bois_ whose hearts are all the time are with their traps
and their beaver-skins."

"No, no; I am sorry if I spoke too hastily," said Louis. "We shall look
into the matter at our council."

"Then it warms my heart to hear you say so," cried the old governor.
"There will be joy down the long St. Lawrence, in white hearts and in
red, when it is known that their great father over the waters has
turned his mind towards them."

"And yet you must not look for too much, for Canada has been a heavy
cost to us, and we have many calls in Europe."

"Ah, sire, I would that you could see that great land. When your
Majesty has won a campaign over here, what may come of it? Glory, a few
miles of land Luxembourg, Strassburg, one more city in the kingdom; but
over there, with a tenth of the cost and a hundredth part of the force,
there is a world ready to your hand. It is so vast, sire, so rich, so
beautiful! Where are there such hills, such forests, such rivers?
And it is all for us if we will but take it. Who is there to stand in
our way? A few nations of scattered Indians and a thin strip of English
farmers and fishermen. Turn your thoughts there, sire, and in a few
years you would be able to stand upon your citadel at Quebec, and to say
there is one great empire here from the snows of the North to the warm
Southern Gulf, and from the waves of the ocean to the great plains
beyond Marquette's river, and the name of this empire is France, and her
king is Louis, and her flag is the _fleurs-de-lis_."

Louis's cheek had flushed at this ambitious picture, and he had leaned
forward in his chair, with flashing eyes, but he sank back again as the
governor concluded.

"On my word, count," said he, "you have caught something of this gift of
Indian eloquence of which we have heard. But about these English folk.
They are Huguenots, are they not?"

"For the most part. Especially in the North."

"Then it might be a service to Holy Church to send them packing. They
have a city there, I am told. New--New--How do they call it?"

"New York, sire. They took it from the Dutch."

"Ah, New York. And have I not heard of another? Bos--Bos--"

"Boston, sire."

"That is the name. The harbours might be of service to us. Tell me,
now, Frontenac," lowering his voice so that his words might be audible
only to the count, Louvois, and the royal circle, "what force would you
need to clear these people out? One regiment, two regiments, and
perhaps a frigate or two?"

But the ex-governor shook his grizzled head. "You do not know them,
sire," said he. "They are stern folk, these. We in Canada, with all
your gracious help, have found it hard to hold our own. Yet these men
have had no help, but only hindrance, with cold and disease, and barren
lands, and Indian wars, but they have thriven and multiplied until the
woods thin away in front of them like ice in the sun, and their church
bells are heard where but yesterday the wolves were howling. They are
peaceful folk, and slow to war, but when they have set their hands to
it, though they may be slack to begin, they are slacker still to cease.
To put New England into your Majesty's hands, I would ask fifteen
thousand of your best troops and twenty ships of the line."

Louis sprang impatiently from his chair, and caught up his cane.
"I wish," said he, "that you would imitate these people who seem to you
to be so formidable, in their excellent habit of doing things for
themselves. The matter may stand until our council. Reverend father,
it has struck the hour of chapel, and all else may wait until we have
paid out duties to heaven." Taking a missal from the hands of an
attendant, he walked as fast as his very high heels would permit him,
towards the door, the court forming a lane through which he might pass,
and then closing up behind to follow him in order of precedence.



Whilst Louis had been affording his court that which he had openly
stated to be the highest of human pleasures--the sight of the royal
face--the young officer of the guard outside had been very busy passing
on the titles of the numerous applicants for admission, and exchanging
usually a smile or a few words of greeting with them, for his frank,
handsome face was a well-known one at the court. With his merry eyes
and his brisk bearing, he looked like a man who was on good terms with
Fortune. Indeed, he had good cause to be so, for she had used him well.
Three years ago he had been an unknown subaltern bush-fighting with
Algonquins and Iroquois in the wilds of Canada. An exchange had brought
him back to France and into the regiment of Picardy, but the lucky
chance of having seized the bridle of the king's horse one winter's day
in Fontainebleau when the creature was plunging within a few yards of a
deep gravel-pit had done for him what ten campaigns might have failed to
accomplish. Now as a trusted officer of the king's guard, young,
gallant, and popular, his lot was indeed an enviable one. And yet, with
the strange perversity of human nature, he was already surfeited with
the dull if magnificent routine of the king's household, and looked back
with regret to the rougher and freer days of his early service.
Even there at the royal door his mind had turned away from the frescoed
passage and the groups of courtiers to the wild ravines and foaming
rivers of the West, when suddenly his eyes lit upon a face which he had
last seen among those very scenes.

"Ah, Monsieur de Frontenac!" he cried. "You cannot have forgotten me."

"What! De Catinat! Ah, it is a joy indeed to see a face from over the
water! But there is a long step between a subaltern in the Carignan and
a captain in the guards. You have risen rapidly."

"Yes; and yet I may be none the happier for it. There are times when I
would give it all to be dancing down the Lachine Rapids in a birch
canoe, or to see the red and the yellow on those hill-sides once more at
the fall of the leaf."

"Ay," sighed De Frontenac. "You know that my fortunes have sunk as
yours have risen. I have been recalled, and De la Barre is in my place.
But there will be a storm there which such a man as he can never stand
against. With the Iroquois all dancing the scalp-dance, and Dongan
behind them in New York to whoop them on, they will need me, and they
will find me waiting when they send. I will see the king now, and try
if I cannot rouse him to play the great monarch there as well as here.
Had I but his power in my hands, I should change the world's history."

"Hush! No treason to the captain of the guard," cried De Catinat,
laughing, while the stern old soldier strode past him into the king's

A gentleman very richly dressed in black and silver had come up during
this short conversation, and advanced, as the door opened, with the
assured air of a man whose rights are beyond dispute. Captain de
Catinat, however, took a quick step forward, and barred him off from the

"I am very sorry, Monsieur de Vivonne," said he, "but you are forbidden
the presence."

"Forbidden the presence! I? You are mad!" He stepped back with gray
face and staring eyes, one shaking hand half raised in protest,

"I assure you that it is his order."

"But it is incredible. It is a mistake."

"Very possibly."

"Then you will let me past."

"My orders leave me no discretion."

"If I could have one word with the king."

"Unfortunately, monsieur, it is impossible."

"Only one word."

"It really does not rest with me, monsieur."

The angry nobleman stamped his foot, and stared at the door as though he
had some thoughts of forcing a passage. Then turning on his heel, he
hastened away down the corridor with the air of a man who has come to a

"There, now," grumbled De Catinat to himself, as he pulled at his thick
dark moustache, "he is off to make some fresh mischief. I'll have his
sister here presently, as like as not, and a pleasant little choice
between breaking my orders and making an enemy of her for life.
I'd rather hold Fort Richelieu against the Iroquois than the king's door
against an angry woman. By my faith, here _is_ a lady, as I feared!
Ah, Heaven be praised! it is a friend, and not a foe. Good-morning,
Mademoiselle Nanon."

"Good-morning, Captain de Catinat."

The new-comer was a tall, graceful brunette, her fresh face and
sparkling black eyes the brighter in contrast with her plain dress.

"I am on guard, you see. I cannot talk with you."

"I cannot remember having asked monsieur to talk with me."

"Ah, but you must not pout in that pretty way, or else I cannot help
talking to you," whispered the captain. "What is this in your hand,

"A note from Madame de Maintenon to the king. You will hand it to him,
will you not?"

"Certainly, mademoiselle. And how is Madame, your mistress?"

"Oh, her director has been with her all the morning, and his talk is
very, very good; but it is also very, very sad. We are not very
cheerful when Monsieur Godet has been to see us. But I forget monsieur
is a Huguenot, and knows nothing of directors."

"Oh, but I do not trouble about such differences. I let the Sorbonne
and Geneva fight it out between them. Yet a man must stand by his
family, you know."

"Ah! if Monsieur could talk to Madame de Maintenon a little! She would
convert him."

"I would rather talk to Mademoiselle Nanon, but if--"

"Oh!" There was an exclamation, a whisk of dark skirts, and the
soubrette had disappeared down a side passage.

Along the broad, lighted corridor was gliding a very stately and
beautiful lady, tall, graceful, and exceedingly haughty. She was richly
clad in a bodice of gold-coloured camlet and a skirt of gray silk
trimmed with gold and silver lace. A handkerchief of priceless Genoa
point half hid and half revealed her beautiful throat, and was fastened
in front by a cluster of pearls, while a rope of the same, each one
worth a bourgeois' income, was coiled in and out through her luxuriant
hair. The lady was past her first youth, it is true, but the
magnificent curves of her queenly figure, the purity of her complexion,
the brightness of her deep-lashed blue eyes and the clear regularity of
her features enabled her still to claim to be the most handsome as well
as the most sharp-tongued woman in the court of France. So beautiful
was her bearing, the carriage of her dainty head upon her proud white
neck, and the sweep of her stately walk, that the young officer's fears
were overpowered in his admiration, and he found it hard, as he raised
his hand in salute, to retain the firm countenance which his duties

"Ah, it is Captain de Catinat," said Madame de Montespan, with a smile
which was more embarrassing to him than any frown could have been.

"Your humble servant, marquise."

"I am fortunate in finding a friend here, for there has been some
ridiculous mistake this morning."

"I am concerned to hear it."

"It was about my brother, Monsieur de Vivonne. It is almost too
laughable to mention, but he was actually refused admission to the

"It was my misfortune to have to refuse him, madame."

"You, Captain de Catinat? And by what right?" She had drawn up her
superb figure, and her large blue eyes were blazing with indignant

"The king's order, madame."

"The king! Is it likely that the king would cast a public slight upon
my family? From whom had you this preposterous order?"

"Direct from the king through Bontems."

"Absurd! Do you think that the king would venture to exclude a
Mortemart through the mouth of a valet? You have been dreaming,

"I trust that it may prove so, madame."

"But such dreams are not very fortunate to the dreamer. Go, tell the
king that I am here, and would have a word with him."

"Impossible, madame."

"And why?"

"I have been forbidden to carry a message."

"To carry any message?"

"Any from you, madame."

"Come, captain, you improve. It only needed this insult to make the
thing complete. You may carry a message to the king from any
adventuress, from any decayed governess"--she laughed shrilly at her
description of her rival--"but none from Francoise de Mortemart,
Marquise de Montespan?"

"Such are my orders, madame. It pains me deeply to be compelled to
carry them out."

"You may spare your protestations, captain. You may yet find that you
have every reason to be deeply pained. For the last time, do you refuse
to carry my message to the king?"

"I must, madame."

"Then I carry it myself."

She sprang forward at the door, but he slipped in front of her with
outstretched arms.

"For God's sake, consider yourself, madame!" he entreated. "Other eyes
are upon you."

"Pah! Canaille!" She glanced at the knot of Switzers, whose sergeant
had drawn them off a few paces, and who stood open-eyed, staring at the

"I tell you that I _will_ see the king."

"No lady has ever been at the morning _lever_."

"Then I shall be the first."

"You will ruin me if you pass."

"And none the less, I shall do so."

The matter looked serious. De Catinat was a man of resource, but for
once he was at his wits' end. Madame de Montespan's resolution, as it
was called in her presence, or effrontery, as it was termed behind her
back, was proverbial. If she attempted to force her way, would he
venture to use violence upon one who only yesterday had held the
fortunes of the whole court in the hollow of her hand, and who, with her
beauty, her wit, and her energy, might very well be in the same position
to-morrow? If she passed him, then his future was ruined with the king,
who never brooked the smallest deviation from his orders. On the other
hand, if he thrust her back, he did that which could never be forgiven,
and which would entail some deadly vengeance should she return to power.
It was an unpleasant dilemma. But a happy thought flashed into his mind
at the very moment when she, with clenched hand and flashing eyes, was
on the point of making a fresh attempt to pass him.

"If madame would deign to wait," said he soothingly, "the king will be
on his way to the chapel in an instant."

"It is not yet time."

"I think the hour has just gone."

"And why should I wait, like a lackey?"

"It is but a moment, madame."

"No, I shall not wait." She took a step forward towards the door.

But the guardsman's quick ear had caught the sound of moving feet from
within, and he knew that he was master of the situation.

"I will take Madame's message," said he.

"Ah, you have recovered your senses! Go, tell the king that I wish to
speak with him."

He must gain a little time yet. "Shall I say it through the lord in

"No; yourself."


"No, no; for his private ear."

"Shall I give a reason for your request?"

"Oh, you madden me! Say what I have told you, and at once."

But the young officer's dilemma was happily over.

At that instant the double doors were swung open, and Louis appeared in
the opening, strutting forwards on his high-heeled shoes, his stick
tapping, his broad skirts flapping, and his courtiers spreading out
behind him. He stopped as he came out, and turned to the captain of the

"You have a note for me?"

"Yes, sire."

The monarch slipped it into the pocket of his scarlet undervest, and was
advancing once more when his eyes fell upon Madame de Montespan standing
very stiff and erect in the middle of the passage. A dark flush of
anger shot to his brow, and he walked swiftly past her without a word;
but she turned and kept pace with him down the corridor.

"I had not expected this honour, madame," said he.

"Nor had I expected this insult, sire."

"An insult, madame? You forget yourself."

"No; it is you who have forgotten me, sire."

"You intrude upon me."

"I wished to hear my fate from your own lips," she whispered. "I can
bear to be struck myself, sire, even by him who has my heart. But it is
hard to hear that one's brother has been wounded through the mouths of
valets and Huguenot soldiers for no fault of his, save that his sister
has loved too fondly."

"It is no time to speak of such things."

"When can I see you, then, sire?"

"In your chamber."

"At what hour?"

"At four."

"Then I shall trouble your Majesty no further." She swept him one of
the graceful courtesies for which she was famous, and turned away down a
side passage with triumph shining in her eyes. Her beauty and her
spirit had never failed her yet, and now that she had the monarch's
promise of an interview she never doubted that she could do as she had
done before, and win back the heart of the man, however much against the
conscience of the king.



Louis had walked on to his devotions in no very charitable frame of
mind, as was easily to be seen from his clouded brow and compressed
lips. He knew his late favourite well, her impulsiveness, her audacity,
her lack of all restraint when thwarted or opposed. She was capable of
making a hideous scandal, of turning against him that bitter tongue
which had so often made him laugh at the expense of others, perhaps even
of making some public exposure which would leave him the butt and gossip
of Europe. He shuddered at the thought. At all costs such a
catastrophe must be averted. And yet how could he cut the tie which
bound them? He had broken other such bonds as these; but the gentle La
Valliere had shrunk into a convent at the very first glance which had
told her of waning love. That was true affection. But this woman would
struggle hard, fight to the bitter end, before she would quit the
position which was so dear to her. She spoke of her wrongs. What were
her wrongs? In his intense selfishness, nurtured by the eternal
flattery which was the very air he breathed, he could not see that the
fifteen years of her life which he had absorbed, or the loss of the
husband whom he had supplanted, gave her any claim upon him. In his
view he had raised her to the highest position which a subject could
occupy. Now he was weary of her, and it was her duty to retire with
resignation, nay, even with gratitude for past favours. She should have
a pension, and the children should be cared for. What could a
reasonable woman ask for more?

And then his motives for discarding her were so excellent. He turned
them over in his mind as he knelt listening to the Archbishop of Paris
reciting the Mass, and the more he thought, the more he approved. His
conception of the deity was as a larger Louis, and of heaven as a more
gorgeous Versailles. If he exacted obedience from his twenty millions,
then he must show it also to this one who had a right to demand it of
him. On the whole, his conscience acquitted him. But in this one matter
he had been lax. From the first coming of his gentle and forgiving
young wife from Spain, he had never once permitted her to be without a
rival. Now that she was dead, the matter was no better. One favourite
had succeeded another, and if De Montespan had held her own so long, it
was rather from her audacity than from his affection. But now Father La
Chaise and Bossuet were ever reminding him that he had topped the summit
of his life, and was already upon that downward path which leads to the
grave. His wild outburst over the unhappy Fontanges had represented the
last flicker of his passions. The time had come for gravity and for
calm, neither of which was to be expected in the company of Madame de

But he had found out where they were to be enjoyed. From the day when
De Montespan had introduced the stately and silent widow as a governess
for his children, he had found a never-failing and ever-increasing
pleasure in her society. In the early days of her coming he had sat for
hours in the rooms of his favourite, watching the tact and sweetness of
temper with which her dependent controlled the mutinous spirits of the
petulant young Duc du Maine and the mischievous little Comte de
Toulouse. He had been there nominally for the purpose of superintending
the teaching, but he had confined himself to admiring the teacher.
And then in time he too had been drawn into the attraction of that
strong sweet nature, and had found himself consulting her upon points of
conduct, and acting upon her advice with a docility which he had never
shown before to minister or mistress. For a time he had thought that
her piety and her talk of principle might be a mere mask, for he was
accustomed to hypocrisy all round him. It was surely unlikely that a
woman who was still beautiful, with as bright an eye and as graceful a
figure as any in his court, could, after a life spent in the gayest
circles, preserve the spirit of a nun. But on this point he was soon
undeceived, for when his own language had become warmer than that of
friendship, he had been met by an iciness of manner and a brevity of
speech which had shown him that there was one woman at least in his
dominions who had a higher respect for herself than for him. And
perhaps it was better so. The placid pleasures of friendship were very
soothing after the storms of passion. To sit in her room every
afternoon, to listen to talk which was not tainted with flattery, and to
hear opinions which were not framed to please his ear, were the
occupations now of his happiest hours. And then her influence over him
was all so good! She spoke of his kingly duties, of his example to his
subjects, of his preparation for the World beyond, and of the need for
an effort to snap the guilty ties which he had formed. She was as good
as a confessor--a confessor with a lovely face and a perfect arm.

And now he knew that the time had come when he must choose between her
and De Montespan. Their influences were antagonistic. They could not
continue together. He stood between virtue and vice, and he must
choose. Vice was very attractive too, very comely, very witty, and
holding him by that chain of custom which is so hard to shake off.
There were hours when his nature swayed strongly over to that side, and
when he was tempted to fall back into his old life. But Bossuet and
Pere la Chaise were ever at his elbows to whisper encouragement, and,
above all, there was Madame de Maintenon to remind him of what was due
to his position and to his six-and-forty years. Now at last he had
braced himself for a supreme effort. There was no safety for him while
his old favourite was at court. He knew himself too well to have any
faith in a lasting change so long as she was there ever waiting for his
moment of weakness. She must be persuaded to leave Versailles, if
without a scandal it could be done. He would be firm when he met her in
the afternoon, and make her understand once for all that her reign was
forever over.

Such were the thoughts which ran through the king's head as he bent over
the rich crimson cushion which topped his _prie-dieu_ of carved oak.
He knelt in his own enclosure to the right of the altar, with his guards
and his immediate household around him, while the court, ladies and
cavaliers, filled the chapel. Piety was a fashion now, like dark
overcoats and lace cravats, and no courtier was so worldly-minded as not
to have had a touch of grace since the king had taken to religion.
Yet they looked very bored, these soldiers and seigneurs, yawning and
blinking over the missals, while some who seemed more intent upon their
devotions were really dipping into the latest romance of Scudery or
Calpernedi, cunningly bound up in a sombre cover. The ladies, indeed,
were more devout, and were determined that all should see it, for each
had lit a tiny taper, which she held in front of her on the plea of
lighting up her missal, but really that her face might be visible to the
king, and inform him that hers was a kindred spirit. A few there may
have been, here and there, whose prayers rose from their hearts, and who
were there of their own free will; but the policy of Louis had changed
his noblemen into courtiers and his men of the world into hypocrites,
until the whole court was like one gigantic mirror which reflected his
own likeness a hundredfold.

It was the habit of Louis, as he walked back from the chapel, to receive
petitions or to listen to any tales of wrong which his subjects might
bring to him. His way, as he returned to his rooms, lay partly across
an open space, and here it was that the suppliants were wont to
assemble. On this particular morning there were but two or three--a
Parisian, who conceived himself injured by the provost of his guild, a
peasant whose cow had been torn by a huntsman's dog, and a farmer who
had had hard usage from his feudal lord. A few questions and then a
hurried order to his secretary disposed of each case, for if Louis was a
tyrant himself, he had at least the merit that he insisted upon being
the only one within his kingdom. He was about to resume his way again,
when an elderly man, clad in the garb of a respectable citizen, and with
a strong deep-lined face which marked him as a man of character, darted
forward, and threw himself down upon one knee in front of the monarch.

"Justice, sire, justice!" he cried.

"What is this, then?" asked Louis. "Who are you, and what is it that
you want?"

"I am a citizen of Paris, and I have been cruelly wronged."

"You seem a very worthy person. If you have indeed been wronged you
shall have redress. What have you to complain of?"

"Twenty of the Blue Dragoons of Languedoc are quartered in my house,
with Captain Dalbert at their head. They have devoured my food, stolen
my property, and beaten my servants, yet the magistrates will give me no

"On my life, justice seems to be administered in a strange fashion in
our city of Paris!" exclaimed the king wrathfully.

"It is indeed a shameful case," said Bossuet.

"And yet there may be a very good reason for it," suggested Pere la
Chaise. "I would suggest that your Majesty should ask this man his
name, his business, and why it was that the dragoons were quartered upon

"You hear the reverend father's question."

"My name, sire, is Catinat, by trade I am a merchant in cloth, and I am
treated in this fashion because I am of the Reformed Church."

"I thought as much!" cried the confessor.

"That alters matters," said Bossuet.

The king shook his head and his brow darkened. "You have only yourself
to thank, then. The remedy is in your hands."

"And how, sire?"

"By embracing the only true faith."

"I am already a member of it, sire."

The king stamped his foot angrily. "I can see that you are a very
insolent heretic," said he. "There is but one Church in France, and
that is my Church. If you are outside that, you cannot look to me for

"My creed is that of my father, sire, and of my grandfather."

"If they have sinned it is no reason why you should. My own grandfather
erred also before his eyes were opened."

"But he nobly atoned for his error," murmured the Jesuit.

"Then you will not help me, sire?"

"You must first help yourself."

The old Huguenot stood up with a gesture of despair, while the king
continued on his way, the two ecclesiastics, on either side of him,
murmuring their approval into his ears.

"You have done nobly, sire."

"You are truly the first son of the Church."

"You are the worthy successor of St. Louis."

But the king bore the face of a man who was not absolutely satisfied
with his own action.

"You do not think, then, that these people have too hard a measure?"
said he.

"Too hard? Nay, your Majesty errs on the side of mercy."

"I hear that they are leaving my kingdom in great numbers."

"And surely it is better so, sire; for what blessing can come upon a
country which has such stubborn infidels within its boundaries?"

"Those who are traitors to God can scarce be loyal to the king,"
remarked Bossuet. "Your Majesty's power would be greater if there were
no temple, as they call their dens of heresy, within your dominions."

"My grandfather promised them protection. They are shielded, as you
well know, by the edict which be gave at Nantes."

"But it lies with your Majesty to undo the mischief that has been done."

"And how?"

"By recalling the edict."

"And driving into the open arms of my enemies two millions of my best
artisans and of my bravest servants. No, no, father, I have, I trust,
every zeal for Mother-Church, but there is some truth in what De
Frontenac said this morning of the evil which comes from mixing the
affairs of this world with those of the next. How say you, Louvois?"

"With all respect to the Church, sire, I would say that the devil has
given these men such cunning of hand and of brain that they are the best
workers and traders in your Majesty's kingdom. I know not how the state
coffers are to be filled if such tax-payers go from among us. Already
many have left the country and taken their trades with them. If all
were to go, it would be worse for us than a lost campaign."

"But," remarked Bossuet, "if it were once known that the king's will had
been expressed, your Majesty may rest assured that even the worst of his
subjects bear him such love that they would hasten to come within the
pale of Holy Church. As long as the edict stands, it seems to them that
the king is lukewarm, and that they may abide in their error."

The king shook his head. "They have always been stubborn folk," said

"Perhaps," remarked Louvois, glancing maliciously at Bossuet, "were the
bishops of France to make an offering to the state of the treasures of
their sees, we might then do without these Huguenot taxes."

"All that the Church has is at the king's service," answered Bossuet

"The kingdom is mine and all that is in it," remarked Louis, as they
entered the _Grand Salon_, in which the court assembled after chapel,
"yet I trust that it may be long before I have to claim the wealth of
the Church."

"We trust so, sire," echoed the ecclesiastics.

"But we may reserve such topics for our council-chamber. Where is
Mansard? I must see his plans for the new wing at Marly." He crossed
to a side table, and was buried in an instant in his favourite pursuit,
inspecting the gigantic plans of the great architect, and inquiring
eagerly as to the progress of the work.

"I think," said Pere la Chaise, drawing Bossuet aside, "that your Grace
has made some impression upon the king's mind."

"With your powerful assistance, father."

"Oh, you may rest assured that I shall lose no opportunity of pushing on
the good work."

"If you take it in hand, it is done."

"But there is another who has more weight than I."

"The favourite, De Montespan?"

"No, no; her day is gone. It is Madame de Maintenon."

"I hear that she is very devout."

"Very. But she has no love for my Order. She is a Sulpitian. Yet we
may all work to one end. Now if you were to speak to her, your Grace."

"With all my heart."

"Show her how good a service it would be could she bring about the
banishment of the Huguenots."

"I shall do so."

"And offer her in return that we will promote--" he bent forward and
whispered into the prelate's ear.

"What! He would not do it!"

"And why? The queen is dead."

"The widow of the poet Scarron!"

"She is of good birth. Her grandfather and his were dear friends."

"It is impossible."

"But I know his heart, and I say it is possible."

"You certainly know his heart, father, if any can. But such a thought
had never entered my head."

"Then let it enter and remain there. If she will serve the Church, the
Church will serve her. But the king beckons, and I must go."

The thin dark figure hastened off through the throng of courtiers, and
the great Bishop of Meaux remained standing with his chin upon his
breast, sunk in reflection.

By this time all the court was assembled in the _Grand Salon_, and the
huge room was gay from end to end with the silks, the velvets, and the
brocades of the ladies, the glitter of jewels, the flirt of painted
fans, and the sweep of plume or aigrette. The grays, blacks, and browns
of the men's coats toned down the mass of colour, for all must be dark
when the king was dark, and only the blues of the officers' uniforms,
and the pearl and gray of the musketeers of the guard, remained to call
back those early days of the reign when the men had vied with the women
in the costliness and brilliancy of their wardrobes. And if dresses had
changed, manners had done so even more. The old levity and the old
passions lay doubtless very near the surface, but grave faces and
serious talk were the fashion of the hour. It was no longer the lucky
_coup_ at the lansquenet table, the last comedy of Moliere, or the new
opera of Lully about which they gossiped, but it was on the evils of
Jansenism, on the expulsion of Arnauld from the Sorbonne, on the
insolence of Pascal, or on the comparative merits of two such popular
preachers as Bourdaloue and Massilon. So, under a radiant ceiling and
over a many-coloured floor, surrounded by immortal paintings, set
thickly in gold and ornament, there moved these nobles and ladies of
France, all moulding themselves upon the one little dark figure in their
midst, who was himself so far from being his own master that he hung
balanced even now between two rival women, who were playing a game in
which the future of France and his own destiny were the stakes.



The elderly Huguenot had stood silent after his repulse by the king,
with his eyes cast moodily downwards, and a face in which doubt, sorrow,
and anger contended for the mastery. He was a very large, gaunt man,
raw-boned and haggard, with a wide forehead, a large, fleshy nose, and a
powerful chin. He wore neither wig nor powder, but Nature had put her
own silvering upon his thick grizzled locks, and the thousand puckers
which clustered round the edges of his eyes, or drew at the corners of
his mouth, gave a set gravity to his face which needed no device of the
barber to increase it. Yet in spite of his mature years, the swift
anger with which he had sprung up when the king refused his plaint, and
the keen fiery glance which he had shot at the royal court as they filed
past him with many a scornful smile and whispered gibe at his expense,
all showed that he had still preserved something of the strength and of
the spirit of his youth. He was dressed as became his rank, plainly and
yet well, in a sad-coloured brown kersey coat with silver-plated
buttons, knee-breeches of the same, and white woollen stockings, ending
in broad-toed black leather shoes cut across with a great steel buckle.
In one hand he carried his low felt hat, trimmed with gold edging, and
in the other a little cylinder of paper containing a recital of his
wrongs, which he had hoped to leave in the hands of the king's

His doubts as to what his next step should be were soon resolved for him
in a very summary fashion. These were days when, if the Huguenot was
not absolutely forbidden in France, he was at least looked upon as a
man who existed upon sufferance, and who was unshielded by the laws
which protected his Catholic fellow-subjects. For twenty years the
stringency of the persecution had increased until there was no weapon
which bigotry could employ, short of absolute expulsion, which had not
been turned against him. He was impeded in his business, elbowed out of
all public employment, his house filled with troops, his children
encouraged to rebel against him, and all redress refused him for the
insults and assaults to which he was subjected. Every rascal who wished
to gratify his personal spite, or to gain favour with his bigoted
superiors, might do his worst upon him without fear of the law. Yet, in
spite of all, these men clung to the land which disowned them, and, full
of the love for their native soil which lies so deep in a Frenchman's
heart, preferred insult and contumely at home to the welcome which would
await them beyond the seas. Already, however, the shadow of those days
was falling upon them when the choice should no longer be theirs.

Two of the king's big blue-coated guardsmen were on duty at that side of
the palace, and had been witnesses to his unsuccessful appeal. Now they
tramped across together to where he was standing, and broke brutally
into the current of his thoughts.

"Now, Hymn-books," said one gruffly, "get off again about your

"You're not a very pretty ornament to the king's pathway," cried the
other, with a hideous oath. "Who are you, to turn up your nose at the
king's religion, curse you?"

The old Huguenot shot a glance of anger and contempt at them, and was
turning to go, when one of them thrust at his ribs with the butt end of
his halberd.

"Take that, you dog!" he cried. "Would you dare to look like that at
the king's guard?"

"Children of Belial," cried the old man, with his hand pressed to his
side, "were I twenty years younger you would not have dared to use me

"Ha! you would still spit your venom, would you? That is enough, Andre!
He has threatened the king's guard. Let us seize him and drag him to
the guard-room."

The two soldiers dropped their halberds and rushed upon the old man,
but, tall and strong as they were, they found it no easy matter to
secure him. With his long sinewy arms and his wiry frame, he shook
himself clear of them again and again, and it was only when his breath
had failed him that the two, torn and panting, were able to twist round
his wrists, and so secure him. They had hardly won their pitiful
victory, however, before a stern voice and a sword flashing before their
eyes, compelled them to release their prisoner once more.

It was Captain de Catinat, who, his morning duties over, had strolled
out on to the terrace, and had come upon this sudden scene of outrage.
At the sight of the old man's face he gave a violent start, and drawing
his sword, had rushed forward with such fury that the two guardsmen not
only dropped their victim, but, staggering back from the threatening
sword-point, one of them slipped and the other rolled over him, a
revolving mass of blue coat and white kersey.

"Villains!" roared De Catinat. "What is the meaning of this?"

The two had stumbled on to their feet again, very shamefaced and

"If you please, captain," said one, saluting, "this is a Huguenot who
abused the royal guard."

"His petition had been rejected by the king, captain, and yet he refused
to go."

De Catinat was white with fury. "And so, when a French citizen has come
to have a word with the great master of his country, he must be harassed
by two Swiss dogs like you?" he cried. "By my faith, we shall soon see
about that!"

He drew a little silver whistle from his pocket, and at the shrill
summons an old sergeant and half a dozen soldiers came running from the

"Your names?" asked the captain sternly.

"Andre Meunier."

"And yours?"

"Nicholas Klopper."

"Sergeant, you will arrest these men, Meunier and Klopper."

"Certainly, captain," said the sergeant, a dark grizzled old soldier of
Conde and Turenne.

"See that they are tried to-day."

"And on what charge, captain?"

"For assaulting an aged and respected citizen who had come on business
to the king."

"He was a Huguenot on his own confession," cried the culprits together.

"Hum!" The sergeant pulled doubtfully at his long moustache. "Shall we
put the charge in that form, captain? Just as the captain pleases."
He gave a little shrug of his epauletted shoulders to signify his doubt
whether any good could arise from it.

"No," said De Catinat, with a sudden happy thought. "I charge them with
laying their halberds down while on duty, and with having their uniforms
dirty and disarranged."

"That is better," answered the sergeant, with the freedom of a
privileged veteran. "Thunder of God, but you have disgraced the guards!
An hour on the wooden horse with a musket at either foot may teach you
that halberds were made for a soldier's hand, and not for the king's
grass-plot. Seize them! Attention! Right half turn! March!"

And away went the little clump of guardsmen with the sergeant in the

The Huguenot had stood in the background, grave and composed, without
any sign of exultation, during this sudden reversal of fortune; but when
the soldiers were gone, he and the young officer turned warmly upon each

"Amory, I had not hoped to see you!"

"Nor I you, uncle. What, in the name of wonder, brings you to

"My wrongs, Amory. The hand of the wicked is heavy upon us, and whom
can we turn to save only the king?"

The young officer shook his head. "The king is at heart a good man,"
said he. "But he can only see the world through the glasses which are
held before him. You have nothing to hope from him."

"He spurned me from his presence."

"Did he ask your name?"

"He did, and I gave it."

The young guardsman whistled. "Let us walk to the gate," said he.
"By my faith, if my kinsmen are to come and bandy arguments with the
king, it may not be long before my company finds itself without its

"The king would not couple us together. But indeed, nephew, it is
strange to me how you can live in this house of Baal and yet bow down to
no false gods."

"I keep my belief in my own heart."

The older man shook his head gravely.

"Your ways lie along a very narrow path," said he, "with temptation and
danger ever at your feet. It is hard for you to walk with the Lord,
Amory, and yet go hand in hand with the persecutors of His people."

"Tut, uncle!" said the young man impatiently. "I am a soldier of the
king's, and I am willing to let the black gown and the white surplice
settle these matters between them. Let me live in honour and die in my
duty, and I am content to wait to know the rest."

"Content, too, to live in palaces, and eat from fine linen," said the
Huguenot bitterly, "when the hands of the wicked are heavy upon your
kinsfolk, and there is a breaking of phials, and a pouring forth of
tribulation, and a wailing and a weeping throughout the land."

"What is amiss, then?" asked the young soldier, who was somewhat
mystified by the scriptural language in use among the French Calvinists
of the day.

"Twenty men of Moab have been quartered upon me, with one Dalbert, their
captain, who has long been a scourge to Israel."

"Captain Claude Dalbert, of the Languedoc Dragoons? I have already some
small score to settle with him."

"Ay, and the scattered remnant has also a score against this murderous
dog and self-seeking Ziphite."

"What has he done, then?"

"His men are over my house like moths in a cloth bale. No place is free
from them. He sits in the room which should be mine, his great boots on
my Spanish leather chairs, his pipe in his mouth, his wine-pot at his
elbow, and his talk a hissing and an abomination. He has beaten old
Pierre of the warehouse."


"And thrust me into the cellar."


"Because I have dragged him back when in his drunken love he would have
thrown his arms about your cousin Adele."

"Oh!" The young man's colour had been rising and his brows knitted at
each successive charge, but at this last his anger boiled over, and he
hurried forward with fury in his face, dragging his elderly companion by
the elbow. They had been passing through one of those winding paths,
bordered by high hedges, which thinned away every here and there to give
a glimpse of some prowling faun or weary nymph who slumbered in marble
amid the foliage. The few courtiers who met them gazed with surprise at
so ill-assorted a pair of companions. But the young soldier was too
full of his own plans to waste a thought upon their speculations. Still
hurrying on, he followed a crescent path which led past a dozen stone
dolphins shooting water out of their mouths over a group of Tritons, and
so through an avenue of great trees which looked as if they had grown
there for centuries, and yet had in truth been carried over that very

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