Part 44 (1/2)
”My reverend Father, is it in my power to bestow any favor upon you, to grant you a present? It is a right enjoyed by all negotiators.”
”Madam, we care but little for the goods and honors of this world. All I shall ask of you is to cause your son, King Charles IX, to change his confessor, and take one from our Society, the reverend Father Auger. He is an able and accommodating man, skilful in understanding everything, permitting everything--and advising everything.”
”I promise you I shall induce my son Charles to take Father Auger for his confessor. Good night, my reverend Father, go and rest. I shall see you to-morrow before your departure and deliver to you a letter for the Holy Father.”
The Queen rang twice the little bell that lay at her elbow. A page entered: ”Conduct the reverend Father to Count Neroweg of Plouernel.”
She then rang again, not twice, but three times. After bowing to Catherine De Medici the Jesuit withdrew upon the steps of the page.
Almost immediately Anna Bell stepped into the apartment through the door that opened upon the corridor.
Catherine De Medici was struck by the pallor and the troubled, almost frightened, looks of her maid of honor as she presented herself upon the summons of the bell. Fastening a penetrating look upon Anna Bell, the Queen said:
”You look very pale, dearest; your hands tremble; you seem unable to repress some violent emotion.”
”May your Majesty deign to excuse me--”
”What is the cause of your great agitation?”
”Fear, madam. I was hurrying to answer your summons, and--as I crossed the dark corridor--whether it was an illusion or reality, I know not, madam, I thought I saw a white figure float before me--”
”It must be the ghost of some deceased belle, who, expecting still to find here the st.u.r.dy abbot of the monastery, came to pay him a nocturnal visit. But let us leave the dead to themselves, and turn our thoughts to the living. I love you, my pet, above all your companions.”
”Your Majesty has taken pity upon a poor girl.”
”Yes; it is now about eight or nine years ago, that, as Paula, one of my women, was crossing the Chatelet Square, she saw an old Bohemian wench holding a little girl by the hand. Struck by the beauty and comeliness of the little one, Paula offered to buy her. The gypsy quickly closed the bargain. Paula told me the story. I desired to see her protege. It turned out to be yourself. The Bohemian woman must have kidnapped you from some Huguenot family, I fear, judging from a little lead medal that hung from your neck and bore the legend--_A Pastor calling the sheep of the Church out of the desert_--a common expression in the cabalistic cant of those depraved people.”
”Alas! madam, I preserve no other memento of my family--you will pardon me for having kept the medal.”
”Well, from the instant that Paula brought you before me I was charmed with your childish gracefulness. I had you carefully trained in the art of pleasing, and placed you among my maids of honor.”
”Your Majesty enjoys my unbounded grat.i.tude. Whenever you commanded I obeyed, even when you exacted a sacrifice--whatever it may have cost me--”
”You are alluding, my pet, to the conversion of the Marquis of Solange!
I said to you: 'Solange is a Huguenot; he is influential in his province; should war break out again, he may become a dangerous enemy to me; he contemplates leaving the court;--make him love you, and be not cruel to him; a handsome la.s.s like you is well worth a ma.s.s.' The bargain was struck. We now have one Catholic more, and one virgin less.”
Anna Bell hid her face, purple with shame.
Without seeming to notice the young girl's confusion, Catherine De Medici proceeded: ”By the virtue of your beautiful eyes Solange has become a fervent Catholic and one of my most faithful servitors. You gave me in that instance proof of your complete devotion. For the rest, it was a sweet sacrifice on your part, my pet; Solange is an accomplished n.o.bleman, young, handsome, brave and witty. It is not now about that lover that we have business on hand. I have other plans for you. I am thinking of marrying you. I wish to make a Princess of you, and verify the most cherished of your secret wishes--which I have guessed. Anna Bell, you do not love Solange; you never loved him; and you nourish in the recesses of your heart a desperate pa.s.sion for the young Prince Franz of Gerolstein.”
”Good G.o.d! Madam. Have pity upon me! Mercy!”
”There is nothing pitiful in the matter. The Prince is made to be loved.
His reputation for bravery, magnificence and gallantry ran ahead of him to my court, where you saw him last year. He often conversed with you tete-a-tete. When other women sought to provoke him with their allurements your face grew somber. Oh, nothing escapes me! Affairs of state do not absorb me to the point that I can not follow, with the corner of my eye, the cooings of my maids of honor. It is my mental relaxation. I love to see beauty in its youth devote itself to the cult of Venus, and put in practice the saying of Rabelais' Thalamite--'_Do what you please!_' How often did I not seat myself among you, my dear girls, to chat about your gallants, your appointments, your infidelities! What delightful tales did we not tell! How you all led the poor youngsters by the nose! Truth to say, they returned you t.i.t for tat, and with usury, to the greater glory of the G.o.ddess Aphrodite! And yet, my pet, although I had trained you a true professional of the Abbey of Thalamia, with Cupid for your G.o.d and Voluptuousness for your patron saint, you ever remained out of your element among your companions.
Serious and melancholy, you are a sort of nun among my other maids. What you need is devoted and faithful love; a husband whom you can adore without remorse; a brood of children to love. That is the reason, my pet, why I wish to marry you to Franz of Gerolstein.”
”It pleases your Majesty to mock me--take pity upon poor Anna.”
”No joke! You admit you love the young and handsome German Prince. I can read in your soul better than you could yourself. I shall tell you what your thoughts are at this moment: 'Yes, I love Franz of Gerolstein! But a deep abyss separates us two, and will always separate me from him. He is in the camp opposed to that of the Queen, my benefactress; he is the head of a sovereign house; he is ignorant of my pa.s.sion, and if he did know, he never could think of wedding me! What am I? A poor girl picked up from the street. I already have had one gallant. Besides, Catherine De Medici's maids of honor enjoy a bad, a deservedly bad, reputation.