M. De Richelieu’s Two Drops of Water.
M. DE RICHELIEU left the house in the Rue Saint Claude at half-past four. What his errand with Balsamo was will explain itself in the sequel.
M. de Taverney had dined with his daughter, as the dauphiness had given her leave to absent herself on this day in order that she might receive her father.
They were at dessert, when M. de Richelieu, ever the bearer of good news, made his appearance to announce to his friend that the king would not give merely a company to Philip, but a regiment. Taverney was exuberant in his expressions of joy, and Andree warmly thanked the marshal.
The conversation took a turn which may be easily imagined after what had passed; Richelieu spoke of nothing but the king, Andree of nothing but her brother, and Taverney of nothing but Andree. The latter announced in the course of conversation that she was set at liberty from her attendance on the dauphiness; that her royal highness was receiving a visit from two German princes, her relations; and that in order to pass a few hours of liberty with them which might remind her of the court of Vienna, Marie Antoinette had dismissed all her attendants, even her lady of honor; which had so deeply shocked Madame de Noailles that she had gone to lay her grievances at the king’s feet.
Taverney was, he said, delighted at this, since he had thus an opportunity of conversing with Andree about many things relating to their fortune and name. This observation made Richelieu propose to retire, in order to leave the father and daughter quite alone; but Mademoiselle de Taverney would not permit it, so he remained.
Richelieu was in a vein of moralizing; he painted most eloquently the degradation into which the French nobility had fallen, forced as they were to submit to the ignominious yoke of these favorites of chance, these contraband queens, instead of the favorites of the olden times, who were almost as noble as their august lovers — women who reigned over the sovereign by their beauty and their love, and over his subjects by their birth, their strength of mind, and their loyal and pure patriotism.
Andree was surprised at the close analogy between Richelieu’s words and those she had heard from the Baron de Taverney a few days previously.
Richelieu then launched into a theory of virtue so spiritual, so pagan, so French, that Andree was obliged to confess that she was not at all virtuous according to M. de Richelieu’s theories, and that true virtue, as the marshal understood it, was the virtue of Madame Chateauroux, Mademoiselle de la Valliere, and Mademoiselle Fosseuse.
From argument to argument, from proof to proof, Richelieu at last became so clear that Andree no longer understood a word of what he said. On this fooling the conversation continued until about seven o’clock in the evening, when the marshal rose, being obliged, as he said, to pay his court to the king at Versailles.
In passing through the apartment to take his hat, he met Nicole, who had always something to do wherever M. de Richelieu was.
“My girl,” said he, tapping her on the shoulder, “you shall see me out. I want you to carry a bouquet which Madame de Noailles cut for me in her garden, and which she commissioned me to present to the Countess d’Egmont.”
Nicole curtseyed like the peasant girls in M. Rousseau’s comic operas, whereupon the marshal took leave of father and daughter, exchanged a significant glance with Taverney, made a youthful bow to Andree, and retired.
“With the reader’s permission, we will leave the baron and Andree conversing about the fresh mark of favor conferred on Philip, and follow the marshal. By this means we shall know what was his errand at the Rue Saint Claude, where he arrived at such a fearful moment.
Richelieu descended the stairs, resting on Nicole’s shoulder, and as soon as they were in the garden he stopped, and looking her in the face said:
“Ah! little one, so we have a lover.”
“I! my lord marshal!” exclaimed Nicole, blushing crimson, and retreating a step backward.
“Oh; perhaps you are not called Nicole Legay?”
“Yes, my lord marshal.”
“Well, Nicole Legay has a lover.”
“Oh! indeed!”
“Yes, faith, a certain well-looking rascal, whom she used to meet in the Rue Coq-Heron, and who has followed her to Versailles.”
“My lord duke, I swear—”
“A sort of exempt, called — shall I tell you, child, how Mademoiselle Legay’s lover is called?”
Nicole’s last hope was that the marshal was ignorant of the name of the happy mortal.
“Oh! yes, my lord marshal, tell me, since you have made a beginning!”
“Who is called M. Beausire,” repeated the marshal, “and who in truth does not belie his name.”
Nicole clasped her hands with an affectation of prudery which did not in the least impose on Richelieu.
“It seems,” said he, “we make appointments with him at Trianon. Peste! in a royal chateau! that is a serious matter. One may be discharged for these freaks, my sweet one, and M. de Sartines sends all young ladies who are discharged from the royal chateau to the Salpetriere.”
Nicole began to be uneasy.
“My lord,” said she, “I swear to you that if M. Beausire boasts of being my lover, he is a fool and a villain, for indeed I am innocent.”
“I shall not contradict you,” said Richelieu; “but have you made appointments with him or not?”
“My lord duke, a rendezvous is no proof of—”
“Have you or have you not? Answer me.”
“My lord —
“You have. Very well; I do not blame you, my dear child. Besides, I like pretty girls who display their claims, and I have always assisted them in so doing to the utmost of my power. Only, as your friend and protector, I warn you.”
“But have I been seen then?” asked Nicole.
“It seems so, since I am aware of it.”
“My lord,” said Nicole resolutely, “I have not been seen; it is impossible!”
“As to that, I know nothing; but the report is very prevalent, and must tend to fasten attention on your mistress. Now, you must be aware that being more the friend of the Taverneys than of the Legays, it is my duty to give the baron a hint.”
“Oh! my lord!” exclaimed Nicole, terrified at the turn the conversation was taking, “you will ruin me. Although innocent, I shall be discharged on the mere suspicion.”
“In that case, my poor child, you shall be discharged at all events; for even now some evil-minded person or other, having taken offense at these rendezvous, innocent though they be, has informed Madame de Noailles of them.”
“Madame de Noailles! good heavens!”
“Yes; you see the danger is urgent.”
Nicole clasped her hands in despair.
“It is unfortunate, I am aware,” said Richelieu; “but what the deuce can you do?”
“And you, who said just now you were my protector — you, who have proved yourself to be such — can you no longer protect me?” asked Nicole, with a wheedling cunning worthy of a woman of thirty.
“Yes, pardieu! I can protect you.”
“Well, my lord?”
“Yes, but I will not.”
“Oh! my lord duke.”
“Yes; you are pretty, I know that, and your beautiful eyes are telling me all sorts of things; but I have lately become rather blind, my poor Nicole, and I no longer understand the language of lovely eyes. Once I would have offered you an asylum in my pavilion of Hanover, but those days are over.”
“Yet you once before received me there,” said Nicole, angrily.
“Ah! that is ungrateful in you, Nicole, to reproach me with having taken you there, when I did so to render you a service; for confess that without M. Rafte’s assistance, who made you a charming brunette, you would never have entered Trianon, which, after all, perhaps, would have been better than to be dismissed from it now. But why the devil did you give a rendezvous to M. Beausire, and at the very gate of the stables, too?”
“So you know that also?” said Nicole, who saw that she must change her tactics, and place herself at the marshal’s discretion.
“Parbleu! you see I know it; and Madame de Noailles too. This very evening you have another appointment.”
“That is true, my lord; but on my faith I shall not go.”
“Of course, you are warned; but M. Beausire is not warned, and he will be seized. Then, as he will not like of course to be taken for a thief and be hanged, or for a spy and be whipped, he will prefer to say — especially as there is no disgrace in confessing; it—’Unhand me! I am the lover of the pretty Nicole.’”
“My lord duke, I will send to warn him.”
“Impossible, my poor child! by whom could you send? By him who betrayed you, perhaps?”
“Alas! that is true,” said Nicole, feigning despair.
“What a becoming thing remorse is!” exclaimed Richelieu.
Nicole covered her face with her hands, taking care, however, to leave space enough between her fingers to allow her to observe every look and gesture of Richelieu.
“You are really adorable!” said the duke, whom none of these little tricks could escape; “why am I not fifty years younger? No matter. Parbleu! Nicole, I will bring you out of the scrape.”
“Oh, my lord! if you do that, my gratitude—”
“I don’t want it, Nicole. On the contrary. I shall give you most disinterested assistance.”
“Oh! how good of you, my lord; I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“Do not thank me yet; as yet you know nothing. Diable! wait till you hear more.”
“I will submit to anything, provided Mademoiselle Andree does not dismiss me.”
“Ah! then you are very fond of Trianon?”
“Very, my lord.”
“Well. Nicole, in the very first place, get rid of this feeling.”
“But why so, if I am not discovered, my lord?”
“Whether you are discovered or not, you must leave Trianon.”
“Oh! why?”
“I shall tell you; because if Madame de Noailles has found you out, no one, not even the king, could save you.”
“Ah! if I could only see the king.”
“In the second place, even if you are not found out, I myself should be the means of dismissing you.”
“You?”
“Immediately.”
“In truth, my lord marshal, I do not understand you.”
“It is as I have had the honor of telling you.”
“And that is your protection, is it?”
“If you do not wish for it, there is yet time; you have only to say the word. Nicole.”
“Oh, yes! my lord, on the contrary I do wish for it.”
“And I will grant it.”
“Well?”
“Well, this is what I will do for you. Hark ye!”
“Speak, my lord.”
“Instead of getting you discharged, and perhaps imprisoned. I will make you rich and free.”
“Rich and free?”
“Yes.”
“And what must I do in order to be rich and free?”
“Almost nothing.”
“But what — ?”
“What I am about to tell you.”
“Is it difficult?”
“Mere child’s play.”
“Then,” said Nicole, “there is something to do?”
“Ah, dame! you know the motto of this world of ours, Nicole — nothing for nothing!”
“And that which I have to do, is it for myself or for you?”
The duke looked at Nicole.
“Adieu!” said he, “the little masker, how cunning she is!”
“Well, finish, my lord duke.”
“Well! it is for yourself,” replied he, boldly.
“Ah!” said Nicole, who, perceiving that the marshal had need of her services, already feared him no longer, while her ingenious brain was busily endeavoring to discover the truth amid the windings which, from habit, her companion always used; “what shall I have to do for myself, my lord duke?”
“This; M. Beausire comes at half-past seven, does he not?”
“Yes, my lord marshal, that is his hour.”
“It is now ten minutes past seven.”
““ That is also true.”
“If I say the word he will be arrested.”
““ Yes, but you will not say it.”
“No. You will go to him, and tell him — but in the first place, Nicole, do you love this young man?”
“Why. I have given him a rendezvous.”
“That is no reason you may wish to marry him. Women take such strange caprices.”
Nicole burst into a loud laugh.
“Marry him!” said she. “Ha! ha! ha!”
Richelieu was astounded; he had not, even at court, met many women of this stamp.
“Well,” said he, “so be it. You do not wish to marry him; but in that case you love him. So much the better.”
“Agreed! I love M. Beausire. Let us take that for granted, my lord, and proceed!”
“Peste! what strides you make!”
“Of course. You may readily imagine that I am anxious to know what remains for me to do.”
“In the first place, since you love him, you must fly with him.”
“Dame! if you wish it particularly, I suppose I must.”
“Oh! I wish nothing about it — not so fast, little one.”
Nicole saw that she was going too far, and that as yet she had neither the secret nor the money of her cunning opponent. She stooped, therefore, only to rise again afterward.
“My lord,” said she. “I await your orders.”
“Well! you must go to M. Beausire and say to him; ‘We are discovered; but I have a protector who will save you from Saint Lazarus, and me from the Salpetriere. Let us fly.”
Nicole looked at Richelieu.
“Fly?” repeated she.
Richelieu understood her cunning and expressive look.
“Parbleu!” said he, “of course, I shall pay the expenses.”
Nicole asked for no further explanation. It was plain that she must know all, since she was to be paid.
The marshal saw what an important point Nicole had gained, and hastened to say all he had to say, just as a gambler is eager to pay when he has lost, in order to have the disagreeable task of paying over.
“Do you know what you are thinking of, Nicole?” said he.
“Faith, no,” replied the girl; “but I suppose you, my lord marshal, who know so many things, can guess it.”
“Nicole,” he replied, “you were reflecting that if you fled, your mistress might require you during the night, and not finding you, might give the alarm, which would expose you to the risk of being overtaken and seized.”
“No,” said Nicole, “I was not thinking of that, because, after all, my lord, I think I would prefer remaining here.”
“But if M. Beausire is taken?”
“Well, I cannot help it.”
“But if he confess?”
“Let him confess.”
“Ah!” said Richelieu, beginning to be uneasy, “but in that case you are lost.”
“No; for Mademoiselle Andree is kindness itself, and as she loves me at heart, she will speak to the king for me; so, even if M. de Beausire is punished, I shall not share his punishment.”
The marshal bit his lip.
“Nicole,” said he, “I tell you you are a fool. Mademoiselle Andree is not on such good terms with the king, and I will have you arrested immediately if you do not listen to me as I wish. Do you hear, you little viper?”
“Oh! my lord, my ears do not serve me so ill. I hear you, but I form my own conclusions.”
“Good. Then you will go at once and arrange your plan of flight with M. Beausire.”
“But how? Do you imagine, my lord marshal, that I shall expose myself to the risk of flight, when you tell me yourself that mademoiselle might awake, might ask for me, give the alarm, and a great deal more which I know not, but which you, my lord, who are a man of experience, must have foreseen?”
Richelieu bit his lip again, but this time more deeply than he had done before.
“Well, minion, if I have thought of these consequences, I have also thought of how to avoid them.”
“And how will you manage to prevent mademoiselle from calling me?”
“By preventing her awaking.”
“Bah! she awakes ten times during the night.”
“Then she has the same malady that I have?” said Richelieu, calmly.
“The same that you have?” said Nicole, laughing.
“Yes. I also awake ten times every night, only I have a remedy for this sleeplessness. She must use the same remedy, or if not, you will do it for her.”
“What do you mean, my lord?”
“What does your mistress take in the evening before she goes to bed?”
“What does she take?”
“Yes, it is the fashion now to drink something in the evening. Some take orangeade or lemonade, others take eau-de-Melisse, others—”
“Mademoiselle drinks only a glass of pure water in the evening before going to bed; sometimes sweetened and flavored with orange-water, if her nerves are weak.”
“Ah! excellent!” said Richelieu.” just as I do myself. My remedy will suit her admirably.”
“ How so?”
“I pour one drop of a certain liquid in my beverage, and I then never wake all night.”
Nicole tasked her brain to discover to what end the marshal’s diplomacy tended.
“You do not answer?” said he.
“I was just thinking that mademoiselle has not your cordial.”
“I will give you some.”
“Ah!” thought Nicole, seeing at last a ray of light through the darkness.
“You must put two drops of it in your mistress’s glass — neither more nor less, remember — and she will sleep soundly, so that she will not call you, and consequently you will gain time.”
“Oh! if that is all, it is very simple.”
“You will give her the two drops?”
“Certainly.”
“You promise me?”
“I presume it is for my own interest to do so; besides, I will lock the door so carefully—”
“By no means.” said Richelieu hastily. “That is exactly what you must not do; on the contrary, you must leave her room door open.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Nicole, with suppressed joy. She now understood all. Richelieu saw it plainly. “Is that all?” inquired she.
“Absolutely all. Now you may go and tell your exempt to pack up his trunks.”
“Unfortunately, sir, it would be useless to tell him to fill his purse.”
“You know that is my affair.”
“Yes, I remember your lordship was kind enough to say—”
“Come, Nicole, how much do you want?”
“For what?”
“For pouring in the two drops of water.”
“For that, nothing, my lord, since you assure me I do so for my own interest; it would not be just that you should pay me for attending to my own interest. But for leaving mademoiselle’s door open — ah! for that I warn you I must have a good round sum.”
“At one word, how much?”
“I must have twenty thousand francs, my lord.”
Richelieu started.
“Nicole.” said he, with a sigh, “you will make some figure in the world.”
“I ought to do so, my lord, for I begin to believe now that I shall attract attention. But with your twenty thousand francs we shall smooth difficulties.”
“Go and warn M. Beausire, Nicole; and when you return I will give you the money.”
“My lord, M. Beausire is very incredulous, and he will not believe what I tell him unless I can give him proofs.”
Richelieu pulled out a handful of banknotes from his pocket.
“Here is something on account,” said he; “in this purse there are a hundred double louis.”
“Your lordship will settle the account in full and give me the balance then, when I have spoken to M. Beausire?”
“No, pardieu! I will settle it on the spot. You are a careful girl, Nicole; it will bring you luck.”
And Richelieu handed her the promised sum, partly in bank-notes, and partly in louis-d’ors and half-louis.
“There!” said he, “is that right?”
“I think so,” said Nicole; “and now, my lord, I want only the principal thing.”
“The cordial?”
“Yes; of course your lordship has a bottle?”
“I have my own, which I always carry about with me.”
Nicole smiled.
“And then,” said she, “Trianon is locked every night, and I have not a key.”
“But I have one, as first gentleman of the chamber.”
“Ah! indeed!”
“Here it is.”
“How fortunate all this is!” said Nicole; “it is one succession of miracles! And now, my lord duke, adieu!”
“How! adieu?”
“Certainly. I shall not see your lordship again, as I shall go as soon as mademoiselle is asleep.”
“Quite right. Adieu then, Nicole!”
And Nicole, laughing in her sleeve, disappeared in the increasing darkness.
“I shall still succeed,” said Richelieu. “But in truth it would seem that I am getting old, and fortune is turning against me. I have been outwitted by this little one. But what matters it, if I return the blow?”