Part 7 (2/2)
”What did you say to the insolent creatures?”
”I was treating this fraction of the 'sovereign people' like the abject rabble that they are, when my lackey, trembling like a hare, and hoping to secure our release, conceived the infernal idea of calling out to the beggars 'Make way, there, if you please, for the carriage of Monsieur Mirabeau!' Immediately the tempest turned to a zephyr, and the stupid people made way for me, to cries of 'Long live Mirabeau!'”
”They must have taken you for your brother!”
”Death and fury! It is but too true! I shall never forgive my brother that insult!”
”Calm yourself, Viscount; but yet a few days and that filthy populace will be clouted back into the mire where it belongs.”
”Her Excellency, Marchioness Aldini,” loudly announced one of Plouernel's valets at that moment, swinging back both sides of the great door of the parlor, into which he introduced--Victoria Lebrenn under her borrowed name and t.i.tle.
The friends of Monsieur Plouernel thus beheld Marchioness Aldini for the first time. All were struck with astonishment at her beauty, heightened as it was by the splendor of her toilet. For Victoria now wore a trailing robe of poppy-colored cloth of Tours, trimmed with black lace.
The cut of her corsage left bare her arms, shoulders and the rise of her breast, which seemed sculptured in the purest marble. Her black hair was not buried, as was the custom of the time, under a layer of white powder, but, glowing with the l.u.s.ter of ebony, and rolled in thick and numerous ringlets around her head, majestically crowned her brow. A triple string of Venetian sequins served both as diadem and collar.
Nothing can give an adequate idea of the effect of this original mode, at once elegant and severe, which was still more remarkable in that it differed completely from the pomponned attires of the period, and harmonized marvellously with Victoria's own cast of beauty.
Plouernel's friends, seized with admiration, were for a moment speechless. Every look was fastened on the foreign dame;--even Abbot Morlet experienced the fascination, and said to himself as he gazed at her:
”I can understand how the Count is mad over her. The danger is greater than I suspected. She is a very siren.”
Of all Plouernel's a.s.sembled friends, the Abbot was the only one to penetrate the true nature of Victoria's beauty. Her pallor, her flas.h.i.+ng black eyes, her bitter and sardonic smile, gave to her face an indefinable somberness, which was in accord with the severity of her costume of red, black and gold.
Soon the voice of Monsieur Plouernel's chief butler was heard, announcing that supper was served. The Count offered his arm to Victoria, to lead her into the capacious dining room. Walls of white plaster were relieved by gilded moldings which framed large panels frescoed with birds, fruits and flowers. A splendid silver service was laid out on the table, along with a brilliantly colored set of Sevres china. On the burnished surface of the silver glittered the glow of rose-colored candles, held in candelabra of vermilion. The banqueters took their seats about the table. The Count, who had escorted Victoria to a place beside himself, opened the feast.
”Permit me, my friends,” he said, ”to follow a custom recently introduced from England into France, and to propose a first toast to Madam the Marchioness Aldini, who has deigned to accept my invitation to supper.” The Count rose, gla.s.s in hand--”To Madam the Marchioness Aldini!”
The whole company, following the Count's example, rose in their places; holding their gla.s.ses in their out-stretched hands, they repeated:
”To Madam the Marchioness Aldini!”
Draining their gla.s.ses, they resumed their seats.
Victoria in her turn rose. After a moment's pause she replied:
”In response to the courtesy of Monsieur the Count of Plouernel, and of yourselves, my lords prelates, and gentlemen, I propose with my heart and with my lips a toast to the Church, to the monarchy, and to the n.o.bility,--and to the extermination of revolutionists, of whatever rank.”
With these words Victoria moistened her lips in the wine which filled her gla.s.s, while Plouernel's friends, transported by the words of the young woman, repeated in ecstasy, to the music of their clinking gla.s.ses--
”To the Church! To the King! To the n.o.bility! To the extermination of the revolutionists!”
The roisterers sat down; even Abbot Morlet muttered to himself, ”Ah, if the Marchioness is sincere, what an ally we should have in her! What a magic effect the energy of her words produced on these foppish gentlemen, and on these brainless and imprudent prelates, imbeciles who don't even know how to cloak their vices under their sacred robes!”
Victoria, who had been cautiously watching the Jesuit, replied to his thought in her own mind: ”That priest with the cadaverous mask keeps his snaky looks ever fastened on me. He alone, of all this company, seems to mistrust me. We must redouble our care and boldness--the game is on.”
Meanwhile a Cardinal was puzzling over something, and thinking to himself: ”Where did I meet that beautiful Marchioness, or at least a girl who much resembled her? Ah! I remember! It was in the little house where the Dubois woman kept her nymphs, in the King's 'Doe Park,' as he called it, near Versailles. Come, come, that must be an illusion--although, that Italian lord, Aldini, not knowing the antecedents of the old inmate of the Dubois house, might well have left her his name, his t.i.tle, and all. But let us look into things a bit before we pa.s.s a rash judgment.”
The Viscount of Mirabeau was the first to speak aloud. ”Madam the Marchioness,” he said, ”has pledged us a toast to the death of the revolutionists of all ranks and conditions. I understand how a bourgeois, or a peasant, can be a revolutionary; but I can not admit that princes, n.o.bles, or clericals would train with that breed.”
<script>