Petticoat Rule

"You seem to forget, M. le Comte," she said stiffly, "that you are speaking of your wife."

"Nay!" he said with a certain sad dignity, "I try not to forget it. I do not accuse, I merely state a fact, and do so before the woman whom I most honour in the world, who was the first recipient of my childish confidences, the first consoler of my boyhood's sorrows."

"That was when you were free, M. le Comte, and could bring your confidences to me; now they justly belong to another and."

"And by the heavens above me," he interrupted eagerly, "I do that other no wrong by bringing my sorrows to you and laying them with a prayer for consolation at your feet."

He noted that since that first desire to leave him, Lydie had made no other attempt to go. She was sitting in the angle of the rough garden seat, her graceful arm resting on the back, her cheek leaning against her hand. A gentle breeze stirred the little curls round her head, and now, when he spoke so earnestly and so sadly about his sorrow, a swift look of sympathy softened the haughty expression of her mouth.

Quick to notice it, Gaston nevertheless in no way relaxed his attitude of humble supplication; he stood before her with head bent, his eyes mostly riveted on the ground.

"There is so little consolation that I can give," she said more gently.

"There is a great one, if you will but try."

"What is it?"

"Do not cast me out from your life altogether. Am I such a despicable creature that you cannot now and then vouchsafe me one kind look?.. I did wrong you.. I know it… Call it treachery if you must, yet when I look back on that night, meseems I am worthy of your pity. Blinded by my overwhelming love for you, I forgot everything for one brief hour.. forgot that I had sunk deeply in a pitfall – by Heaven through no fault of mine own!.. forgot that another now had a claim on that love which never was mine to give, since it had always been wholly yours… Yes! I forgot!.. the music, the noise, the excitement of the night, your own beauty, Lydie, momentarily addled my brain… I forgot the past, I only lived for the present. Am I to blame because I am a man and that you are exquisitely fair?"

He forced himself not to raise his voice, not to appear eager or vehement. Lydie only saw before her a man whom she had once loved, who had grievously wronged her, but who now stood before her ashamed and humbled, asking with utmost respect for her forgiveness of the past.

"Let us speak of it no longer," she said, "believe me, Gaston, I have never borne you ill-will."

For the first time she had used his Christian name. The layer of ice was broken through, but the surface of the lake was still cold and smooth.

"Nay! but you avoid me," he rejoined seeking to meet her eyes, "you treat me with whole-hearted contempt, whilst I would lay down my life to serve you, and this in all deference and honour, as the martyrs of old laid down their life for their faith."

"Protestations, Gaston," she said with a quick sigh.

"Let me prove them true," he urged. "Lydie, I watched you just now, while you slept; it was some minutes and I saw much. Your lips were parted with constant sighs; there were tears at the points of your lashes. At that moment I would have gladly died if thereby I could have eased your heart from the obvious burden which it bore."

Emboldened by her silence, and by the softer expression of her face, he sat down close beside her, and anon placed his hand on hers. She withdrew it quietly and serenely as was her wont, but quite without anger.

She certainly felt no anger toward him. Strangely enough, the anger she did feel was all against her husband. That Gaston had seen her grief was in a measure humiliating to her pride, and this humiliation she owed to the great wrong done her by milor. And Gaston had been clever at choosing his words; he appealed to her pity and asked for forgiveness. There was no attempt on his part to justify himself, and his self-abasement broke down the barrier of resentment which up to now she had set up against him. His respectful homage soothed her wounded pride, and she felt really, sincerely sorry for him.

The fact that her own actions had been so gravely misunderstood also helped Gaston's cause; she felt that, after all, she too might have passed a hasty, unconsidered judgment on him, and knew now how acutely such a judgment can hurt.

And he spoke very earnestly, very simply: remember that she had loved him once, loved and trusted him. He had been the ideal of her girlhood, and though she had remorselessly hurled him down from his high pedestal since then, there remained nevertheless, somewhere in the depths of her heart, a lingering thought of tenderness for him.

"Lydie!" he now said appealingly.

"Yes?"

"Let me be the means of easing your heart from its load of sorrow. You spoke of my wife just now. See, I do not shirk the mention of her name. I swear to you by that early love for you which was the noblest, purest emotion of my life, that I do not wrong her by a single thought when I ask for your friendship. You are so immeasurably superior to all other women, Lydie, that in your presence passion itself becomes exalted and desire transformed into a craving for sacrifice."

"Oh! how I wish I could believe you, Gaston," she sighed.

"Try me!"

"How?"

"Let me guess what troubles you now. Oh! I am not the empty-headed fop that you would believe. I have ears and eyes, and if I hold aloof from Court intrigues, it is only because I see too much of their inner workings. Do you really believe that I do not see what goes on around me now? Do I not know how your noble sympathy must at this very moment be going out to the unfortunate young prince whom you honour with your friendship? Surely, surely, you cannot be a party to the criminal supineness which at this very moment besets France, and causes her to abandon him to his fate?"

"Not France, Gaston," she protested.

"And not you, surely. I would stake my life on your loyalty to a friend."

"Of course," she said simply.

"I knew it," he ejaculated triumphantly, as if this discovery had indeed caused him joyful surprise. "Every fibre in my soul told me that I would not appeal to you in vain. You are clever, Lydie, you are rich, you are powerful. I feel as if I could turn to you as to a man. Prince Charles Edward Stuart honoured me with his friendship: I am not presumptuous when I say that I stood in his heart second only to Lord Eglinton… But because I hold a secondary place I dared not thrust my advice, my prayers, my help forward, whilst I firmly believed that his greater friend was at work on his behalf. But now I can bear the suspense no longer. The crisis has become over-acute. The Stuart prince is in deadly danger, not only from supineness but from treachery."

Clever Gaston! how subtle and how shrewd! she would never have to come to meet him on this ground, but he called to her. He came to fetch her, as it were, and led her along the road. He did not offer to guide her faltering footsteps, he simulated lameness, and asked for assistance instead of offering it.

So clever was this move that Lydie was thrown off her guard. At the word "treachery" she looked eagerly into his eyes.

"What makes you think.. ?" she asked.

"Oh! I have scented it in the air for some days. The King himself wears an air of shamefacedness when the Stuart prince is mentioned. Madame de Pompadour lately hath talked freely of the completion of her château in the Parc aux Cerfs, as if money were forthcoming from some unexpected source; then a letter came from England, which His Majesty keeps hidden in his pocket, whilst whispered conversations are carried on between the King and Madame, which cease abruptly if any one comes within earshot. Then to-day."

"Yes?.. to-day?" she asked eagerly.

"I hardly dare speak of it."

"Why?"

"I fear it might give you pain."

"I am used to pain," she said simply, "and I would wish to know."

"I was in the antechamber when His Majesty arrived for le petit lever of M. le Contrôleur. I had had vague hopes of seeing you this morning, and lingered about the reception rooms somewhat listlessly, my thoughts dwelling on all the sad news which has lately come from Scotland. In the antechamber His Majesty was met by M. le Duc d'Aumont, your father."

He paused again as if loth to speak, but she said quite calmly:

"And you overheard something which the Duke, my father, said to the King, and which confirmed your suspicions. What was it?"

"It was His Majesty who spoke, obviously not aware that I was within earshot. He said quite airily: 'Oh! if we cannot persuade milor we must act independently of him. The Stuart will be tired by now of living in crags and will not be so chary of entrusting his valuable person to a comfortable French ship.' Then M. le Duc placed a hand on His Majesty's arm warning him of my presence and nothing more was said."

"Then you think that the King of France is about to deliver Prince Charles Edward Stuart to his enemies?" she asked calmly.

"I am sure of it: and the thought is more than I can bear. And I am not alone in this, Lydie. The whole of France will cry out in shame at such perfidy. Heaven knows what will come of it ultimately, but surely, surely we cannot allow that unfortunate young prince whom we all loved and fêted to be thus handed over to the English authorities! That is why I have dared intrude on you to-day. Lydie," he added now in a passionate appeal; "for the sake of that noble if misguided young prince, will you try and forget the terrible wrong which I in my madness and blindness once did you? Do not allow my sin to be expiated by him!.. I crave your help for him on my knees… Hate me an you will! despise me and punish me, but do not deny me your help for him!"

His voice, though sunk now almost to a whisper, was vibrating with passion. He half dropped on his knees, took the edge of her skirt between his fingers and raised it to his lips.

Clever, clever Gaston! he had indeed moved her. Her serenity had gone, and her cold impassiveness. She sat up, erect, palpitating with excitement, her eyes glowing, her lips parted, all her senses awake and thrilling with this unexpected hope.

"In what manner do you wish for my help, Gaston?"

"I think the King and M. le Duc will do nothing for a day or two at any rate. I hoped I could forestall them, with your help, Lydie, if you will give it. I am not rich, but I have realized some of my fortune: my intention was to charter a seaworthy boat, equip her as well as my means allowed and start for Scotland immediately, and then if possible to induce the prince to cross over with me to Ireland, or, with great good luck I might even bring him back as far as Brittany. But you see how helpless I was, for I dared not approach you, and I do not know where I can find the prince."

"And if I do not give you that help which you need?" she asked.

"I would still charter the vessel and start for Scotland," he replied quietly. "I cannot stay here, in inactivity whilst I feel that infamous treachery is being planned against a man with whom I have often broken bread. If you will not tell me where I can find Charles Edward Stuart, I will still equip a vessel and try and find him somehow. If I fail, I will not return, but at any rate I shall then not be a party or a witness to the everlasting shame of France!"

"Your expedition would require great pluck and endurance."

"I have both, and boundless enthusiasm to boot. Two or three friends will accompany me, and my intention was to start for Brest or Le Havre to-night. But if you will consent to help me, Lydie."

"Nay!" she interrupted eagerly. "I'll not help you. 'Tis you who shall help me!"

"Lydie!"

"The plan which you have formed I too had thought on it: the treachery of the King of France, my God! I knew it too. But my plans are more mature than yours, less noble and self-sacrificing, for, as you say, I have power and influence; yet with all that power I could not serve Prince Charles Edward as I would wish to do, because though I have pluck and endurance I am not a man."

"And you want me to help you? Thank God! thank God for that! Tell me what to do."

"To start for Le Havre – not Brest."

"Yes!"

"This afternoon.. reaching Le Havre before dawn."

"Yes."

"There to seek out Le Monarque. She lies in the harbour, and her commander is Captain Barre."

"Yes! yes!"

"You will hand him over a packet, which I will give you anon, and then return here as swiftly as you went."

"Is that all?" he asked in obvious disappointment, "and I who had hoped that you would ask me to give my life for you!"

"The faithful and speedy performance of this errand, Gaston, is worth the most sublime self-sacrifice, if this be purposeless. The packet will contain full instructions for Captain Barre how and where to find Prince Charles Edward. Le Monarque is ready equipped for the expedition, but." she paused a moment as if half ashamed of the admission, "I had no one whom I could entrust with the message."

Gaston de Stainville was too keen a diplomatist to venture on this delicate ground. He had never once mentioned her husband's name, fearing to scare her, or to sting her pride. He knew her to be far too loyal to allow condemnation of her lord by the lips of another man; all he said now was a conventional:

"I am ready!"

Then she rose and held out her hand to him. He bowed with great deference, and kissed the tips of her fingers. His face expressed nothing but the respectful desire to be of service, and not one thought of treachery disturbed Lydie's serenity. Historians have, we know, blamed her very severely for this unconditional yielding of another's secret into the keeping of a man who had already deceived her once; but it was the combination of circumstances which caused her to act thus, and Gaston's masterly move in asking for her help had completely subjugated her. She would have yielded to no other emotion, but that of compassion for him, and the desire to render him assistance in a cause which she herself had so deeply at heart. She had no love for Gaston and no amount of the usual protestations would have wrung a confidence from her. But he had so turned the tables that it appeared that he was confiding in her; and her pride, which had been so deeply humiliated that self-same morning, responded to his appeal. If she had had the least doubt or fear in her mind, she would not have given up her secret, but as he stood so coldly and impassively before her, without a trace of passion in his voice or look, she had absolutely no misgivings.

"I can be in the saddle at four o'clock," he said in the same unemotional tones, "when and how can I receive the packet from you?"

"Will you wait for me here?" she replied. "The packet is quite ready, and the walls of the palace have eyes and ears."

Thus they parted. She full of confidence and hope, not in any way attempting to disguise before him the joy and gratitude which she felt, he the more calm of the two, fearing to betray his sense of triumph, still trembling lest her present mood should change.

Her graceful figure quickly disappeared among the trees. He gave a sigh of intense satisfaction. His Majesty would be pleased, and Madame de Pompadour would be more than kind. Never for a moment did the least feeling of remorse trouble his complacent mind; the dominant thought in him was one of absolute triumph and pride at having succeeded in hoodwinking the keenest statesman in France. He sat down on the garden seat whereon had been fought that close duel between himself and the woman whom he had once already so heartlessly betrayed. He thought over every stage of the past scene and smiled somewhat grimly. He felt quite sure that he individually would never have trusted for the second time a woman who had once deceived him. But Lydie had no such misgivings; as she now sped through the park, she no longer saw its artificiality, its stunted rose trees and the stultified plantations. The air was invigorating to breathe, the fragrance of the flowers was sweet, the birds' twitter was delicious to the ear. There were good and beautiful things in this world, but the best of all was the loyalty of a friend.

CHAPTER XIX

A CRISIS

Lydie returned to the palace in a very different frame of mind than when, half an hour ago, she had run along corridor and staircase, her nerves on the jar, her whole being smarting under the sense of wrong and of injustice.

Hope had consoled her since then, and the thought that her own cherished plan need not fail for want of a loyal man's help had in a measure eased that strange obsession which had weighed on her heart, and caused foolish tears to start to her eyes. She was also conscious of a certain joy in thinking that the companion of her childhood, the man who had been her earliest ideal was not so black a traitor as she had believed.

Gaston had spoken of pitfalls, he owned to having been deceived, and there is no woman living who will not readily admit that her successful rival is naught but a designing minx. Gaston had always been weak where women were concerned, and Lydie forgave him his weakness, simply because he had owned to it and because she liked to think of his fault as a weakness rather than as a deliberate treachery.

Now she only thought of her project. When first she had talked of commissioning Le Monarque, milor had entrusted her with all necessary directions by which Captain Barre could most easily reach the Stuart prince and his friends. It was but a very few weeks, nay days ago, that she had been quite convinced that the King himself would be foremost in the general desire to fit out an expedition for the rescue of the unfortunate Jacobites, and naturally the fitting-out of such an expedition would have been entrusted primarily to herself and incidentally to her husband.

These directions she still had. All she had to do now was to embody them in the secret orders which Gaston de Stainville would hand over to the Commander of Le Monarque. Further orders would be anent getting the prince and his friends on board, and the route to be taken homeward, the better to ensure their safety.

Beyond that she would need some sort of token which, when shown to Charles Edward Stuart by Captain Barre, would induce the young prince to trust himself and his friends unconditionally to Le Monarque. Lord Eglinton's signet ring had been spoken of for this object the day of the Young Pretender's departure, but now of course she could not ask milor for it. On the other hand she felt quite sure that a written word from her would answer the necessary purpose, a brief note sealed with the Eglinton arms.

The thought of the seal as an additional message of good faith first occurred to her when she once more reached the West Wing of the palace.

From the great square landing where she now stood, a monumental door on her right gave on her own suite of apartments. On the left was the long enfilade of reception rooms, with the vast audience chamber and milor's own withdrawing room beyond.

She deliberately turned to the left, and once more traversed the vast and gorgeous halls where, half an hour ago, she had suffered such keen humiliation and such overwhelming disappointment. She forced herself not to dwell on that scene again, and even closed her eyes with a vague fear that the mental vision might become materialized.

Beyond the audience chamber there were two or three more reception rooms, and from the last of these a door masked by a heavy portière, gave on milor's study. All these apartments were now deserted, save for a few flunkeys who stood about desultorily in the window embrasures. From one of them Lydie asked if M. le Contrôleur des Finances was within, but no one remembered having seen milor since the petit lever, and it was generally thought that he had gone to Trianon. Lydie hesitated a moment before she opened the door; she scarcely ever entered this portion of the palace and had never once been in milor's private rooms. But she wanted that seal with the Eglinton arms, and would not admit, even to herself, that her husband's presence or absence interested her in the least.

But on the threshold she paused. Milor was sitting at a gigantic escritoire placed squarely in front of the window. He had obviously been writing; at the slight sound of the creaking door and the swish of Lydie's skirts, he raised his head from his work and turned to look at her.

Immediately he rose.

"Your pardon for this intrusion, milor," she said coldly, "your lacqueys gave me to understand that you were from home."

"Is there anything that you desire?"

"Only a seal with the Eglinton arms," she replied quite casually, "I have need of it for a private communication."

He sought for the seal among the many costly objects which littered his table and handed it to her.

"I am sorry that you should have troubled to come so far for it," he said coldly, "one of my men would have taken it to your study."

"And I am sorry that I should have disturbed you," she rejoined. "I was told that you had gone to Trianon."

"I shall be on my way thither in a few moments, to place my resignation in the hands of His Majesty."

"Your resignation?"

"As I have had the honour to tell you."

"Then you will leave Versailles?"

"To make way for my successor, as soon as His Majesty hath appointed one."

"And you go.. whither?" she asked.

"Oh! what matter?" he replied carelessly, "so long as I no longer trouble your ladyship with my presence."

"Then you will have no objection if I return to my father until your future plans are more mature?"

"Objection?" he said with a pleasant little laugh. "Nay, Madame, you are pleased to joke."

She felt a little bewildered: this unexpected move on his part had somehow thrown all her plans out of gear. For the moment she scarcely had time to conjecture, even vaguely, what her own future actions would be if her husband no longer chose to hold an important position in the Ministry. The thought that his resignation would of necessity mean her own, suddenly rushed into her mind with overwhelming violence, but she was too confused at present to disentangle herself from the maze of conflicting emotions which assailed her, when first she realized the unexpected possibility.

She was toying with the seal, forgetful somehow of the purpose and the plans which it represented. These not being in jeopardy through milor's extraordinary conduct, she could afford to dismiss them from her mind.

It was the idea of her husband's resignation and her own future which troubled her, and strangely enough there was such an air of finality about his attitude that, for the moment, she was somewhat at a loss how to choose a line of argument with which to influence him. That she could make him alter his decision she never doubted for a moment, but since the first day of their married life he had never taken any initiative in an important matter, and his doing so at this moment found her at first wholly unprepared.

"Am I to understand that my wishes in so vital a decision are not to be consulted in any way?" she asked after a momentary pause.

"You will honour me, Madame, by making me acquainted with them," he replied.

"You must reconsider your resignation," she said decisively.

"That is not possible."

"I have much important business of the nation in hand which I could not hand over to your successor in an incomplete state," she said haughtily.

"There is no necessity for that, Madame, nor for depriving the nation of your able, guiding hand. The post of Comptroller of Finance need not be filled immediately. It can remain in abeyance and under your own matchless control, at the pleasure of His Majesty and M. le Duc d'Aumont, neither of whom will, I am sure, desire to make a change in an administration, which is entirely for the benefit of France."

She looked at him very keenly, through narrowed lids scanning his face and trying to read his intent. But there was obviously no look of sarcasm in his eyes, nor the hint of a sneer in the even placidity of his voice. Once more that unaccountable feeling of irritation seemed to overmaster her, the same sense of wrath and of injustice which had assailed her when she first spoke to him.