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CHAPTER IX
THE KNIGHT OF REDCASTLE

Philip of Taverney, Knight of Redcastle, did not resemble his sister, albeit he was as handsome for a man as she was lovely for a woman.

Andrea's embrace of him was accompanied by sobs revealing all the importance of this union to her chaste heart. He took her hand and his father's, and led them into the parlor, where he sat by their sides.

"You are incredulous, father, and you, sister, surprised. But nothing can be more true than that this illustrious princess will be here shortly. You know that the Archduchess made her entry into our realm at Strasburg? As we did not know the exact hour of her arrival, the troops were under arms early, and I was sent out to scout. When I came up with the royal party, the lady herself put her head out of the coach window, and hailed me. My fatigue vanished as by enchantment. The dauphiness is young like you, dear, and beautiful as the angels."

"Tell me, you enthusiast," interrupted the baron, "does she resemble any one you have seen here before?"

"No one could resemble her – stay, come to think of it – why, Nicole has a faint likeness – but what led you to suggest that?"

"I had it from a magician, who at the same time foretold your coming."

"The guest?" timidly inquired Andrea.

"Is he the stranger who discreetly withdrew when I arrived?"

"The same; but continue your story, Philip."

"Perhaps we had better make something ready," hinted the lady.

"No," said her father, staying her; "the more we do, the more ridiculous we shall appear."

"I returned to the city with the news, and all the military marched to receive the new princess. She listened absently to the governor's speech and said suddenly: 'What is the name of this young gentleman who was sent to meet me?' And her governess wrote on her tablets my name, Chevalier Philip Taverney Redcastle. 'Sir,' she said, 'if you have no repugnance to accompany me to Paris, your superior will oblige me by relieving you of your military duties here, for I made a vow to attach to my service the first French gentleman met by me in setting foot in France; and to make him happy, and his family the same, in case princes have the power to do so.'"

"What delightful words!" said Andrea, rubbing her hands.

"Hence, I rode at the princess's coach door to Nancy, through which we marched by torchlight. She called me to her to say that she meant to stop a while at Taverney, though I said our house was not fit to receive so mighty a princess.

"'The sweeter will be the welcome, then, the more plain but the more cordial,' she replied. 'Poor though Taverney may be, it can supply a bowl of milk to the friend who wishes to forget for a time that she is the Princess of Austria and the Bride of France.' Respect prevented me debating further. So I have ridden ahead."

"Impossible," said Andrea; "however kind the princess may be, she would never be content with a glass of milk and a bunch of flowers."

"And if she were," went on Taverney, "she would not tolerate my chairs which break one's back, and my ragged tapestry offending the sight. Devil take capricious women! France will be prettily governed by a featherbrain, who has such whims. Plague take such a token of a singular reign!"

"Oh, father! how can you talk so of a princess who floods our house with favors?"

"Who dishonors me!" returned the old noble. "Who was thinking about Taverney? – not a soul. My name slept under Redcastle ruins not to come forth till I arranged the fit time; and here comes the freak of a royal babe to pull us out into public, dusty, tattered and beggarly. The newspapers, always on the lookout for food for fun, will make a pretty comic talk of the brilliant princess's visit to the Taverney hovel. But, death of my life! an idea strikes me. I know history, and of the Count of Medina setting fire to his palace to win a queen's attention. I will burn down my kennel for a bonfire to the Dauphin's bride."

As nimble as though twenty once more, the old peer ran into the kitchen and plucking a brand, hurried out and over to the barn, but as he was nearing the trusses of forage, Balsamo sprang forth and clutched his arm.

"What are you about, my lord?" he asked, wrenching away the flambeau. "The Archduchess of Austria is no Constable of Bourbon, a traitor, whose presence so fouls a dwelling that it must be purified by fire."

The old noble paused, pale and trembling and not smiling as usual.

"Go and change your gown, my lord, for something more seemly," continued the mysterious guest. "When I knew the Baron of Taverney at Philipsburg Siege, he wore the Grand Cross of St. Louis. I know not of any suit that does not become rich and stylish under the ribbon of that order. Take it coolly: her highness will be kept so busy that she will not notice whether your house be new or old, dull or dazzling. Be hospitable, as a noble is bound to be. Never forestall vexations, my lord. Every dog has his day."

Taverney obeyed with the resignation he had previously shown and went to join his children, who were hunting for him, uneasy at his absence. The magician silently retired like one engaged in a piece of work.

CHAPTER X
MARIE ANTOINETTE

As Balsamo had warned them, there was no time to lose. On the high road, commonly so peaceful, resounded a great tumult of coaches, horses and voices.

Three carriages stopped at the door, held open by Gilbert, whose distended eyes and feverish tremor denoted the sharpest emotion at so much magnificence. The principal coach, loaded with gilding and mythological carvings, was no less mud-spattered and dusty than the others.

A score of brilliant young noblemen ranked themselves near this coach, out of which was assisted a girl of sixteen by a gentleman clad in black, with the grand sash of the St. Louis order under his coat. She wore no hair powder, but this plainness had not prevented the hairdresser building up her tresses a foot above her forehead.

Marie Antoinette Josepha, for it was she, brought into France a fame for beauty not always owned by princesses destined to share the throne of that realm. Without being fine, her eyes took any expression she liked; but particularly those so opposite as mildness and scorn; her nose was well shaped; her upper lip pretty; but the lower one, the aristocratic inheritance of seventeen kaisers, too thick and protruding, even drooping, did not suit the pretty visage, except when it wanted to show ire or indignation.

On this occasion, Marie Antoinette wore her womanly look and womanly smile, more, that of a happy woman. If possible, she did not mean to be the royal princess till the following day. The sweetest calm reigned on her face; the most charming kindness enlivened her eyes.

She was robed in white silk, and her handsome bare arms supported a heavy lace mantle.

She refused the arm of the gentleman in black, and freely advanced, snuffing the air, and casting glances around as though wishful to enjoy brief liberty.

"Oh, the lovely site! What fine old trees! and the pretty little house!" she ejaculated. "How happy they must dwell in this nice air and under these trees which hide us in so well."

Philip Taverney appeared, followed by Andrea, giving her arm to her father, wearing a fine royal blue velvet coat, last vestige of former splendor. Andrea wore a ruddy gray silk dress and had her hair in long plaits. Following Balsamo's hint, the baron had donned the insignia of the Knightly Order.

"Your highness," said Philip, pale with emotion and noble in his sorrow, "allow me the honor to present Baron de Taverney, Red Castle, my sire, and Mademoiselle Claire Andrea, my sister."

The old noble bowed low with the style of one who knew how queens should be saluted; his daughter displayed all the grace of elegant timidity, and the most flattering politeness of sincere respect.

Regarding the pair, and recalling what Philip had stated on their poverty, Marie Antoinette felt with them in their suffering.

"Your highness does Taverney Castle too much honor," said the baron; "so humble a place is nowise worthy to harbor such beauty and nobility."

"I know that I am at the doors of an old soldier of France," was the royal response, "and my mother, the Empress Maria Theresa, who often went to the wars, says that in your kingdom the richest in glory are oft the poorest in gold."

With ineffable grace she held out her hand to Andrea, who knelt to kiss it.

The dauphiness suddenly extricated the baron from his terror about harboring the great number of the retinue.

"My lords and gentlemen," she said, "it is not for you to bear the fatigue of my whims or enjoy the privileges of a royal princess. Pray, await me here; in half an hour I shall return. Come with me, Langenshausen," she said to the countess of that house who was her duenna. "Follow me, my lord," she added to the gentleman in black.

His plain attire was of remarkable style; he was a handsome person of thirty years and smooth manners; he stood aside to let the princess go by. She took Andrea to her side and motioned Philip to follow. The baron fell into place next the fashionable gentleman.

"So you are a Taverney of Redcastle?" queried this fop, as he preened his fine honiton lace ruffles with aristocratic impertinence.

"Am I to answer a gentleman or a nobleman?" returned the baron with equal sauciness.

"Prince will do," said the other, "or eminence."

"Well, yes, your eminence, I am a real Taverney," replied the poor nobleman, without dropping the insolent tone he usually kept.

The prince had the tact of great lords, for he readily perceived that he was not dealing with a rustic hobbledehoy.

"I suppose this is your summer residence?" he continued.

"My residence in all seasons," replied the baron, desiring to finish with this examination, but accompanying his answers with deep bows.

Philip kept turning round to his father with uneasiness; the house seemed towering up to exhibit more and more of their penury. The baron was just holding his hand toward the sill, deserted by visitors, when the dauphiness turned to him, saying:

"Excuse me not going indoors, but these shady spots are so pleasant that I could pass my life beneath them. I am rather weary of interiors. For a fortnight I have been received under roofs – and I like open air, flowers and the shade of foliage. Might I not have a drink of milk in this bower?"

"What a mean refreshment, your highness!" faltered the baron.

"I prefer it, with new-laid eggs, my lord. Such formed my feasts at Schoenbrunn."

All of a sudden, Labrie, puffed up with pride in a showy livery, and holding a damask napkin, appeared in the jessamine hung arbor which the archduchess was eyeing covetously.

"The refreshment is ready for your royal highness," he said with a neat mingling of respect and serenity.

"Am I housed by an enchanter?" exclaimed the princess, darting into the bower.

The perturbed baron forgot etiquette to leave the gentleman in black and run after his guest.

Philip and Andrea looked at each other with even more anxiety than astonishment.

Under the twining clematis, jessamine and honeysuckle an oval table was set, dazzling from the whiteness of the damask cloth and the carved bullion plate upon it. Ten sets of silver awaited as many guests. A choice but strange collation attracted the visitor's gaze. Foreign fruit preserved in sugar; cake and crackers from Aleppo and Madeira, oranges and melons of uncommon size, set in large vases. The richest and noblest wines glittered in all hues of ruby and topaz in four cut-glass Persian decanters. The milk asked for filled a crystal cup.

"But you must have expected me, since in no ten minutes which I have been here could this sumptuous spread be placed." And the princess glanced at Labrie as much as to say: "With only one servant, too?"

"I did expect your royal highness," faltered the baron; "of your coming being apprised."

"If your son did not inform you by letter, then it must have been some fairy – I suppose, the godmother of your daughter."

"It was not so much a fairy, as a magician," said Taverney, offering a seat to the princess. "I do not know anything about how he has done this, as I do not dabble in magic, but I owe it to him that I am fitly entertaining your highness."

"Then I will have none of it. It is contrary to the faith – but his eminence is going to sin, with that liver-pie!"

"We are rather too worldly, we princes of the Church," replied the gentleman in black, "to believe the celestial wrath poisons victuals, and we are too human to visit ill on magicians who provide such good things."

"But I assure your eminence that this is a real sorcerer who conjured up this board ready spread, and who may have produced the gold of this service in the same manner."

"Does he know of the stone which changes all into gold?" questioned the churchman, with his eyes kindling with covetousness.

"This pleases the cardinal, who has passed his life seeking the philosopher's stone," said the princess.

"I own that I find nothing more interesting than supernatural things," returned the prince; "nothing more curious than what's impossible."

"So I have hit the vital spot, have I?" said the archduchess. "Every great man has a mystery, particularly when he is a diplomatist. Let me warn your eminence that I also am a witch, and that I can see into matters – if not curious and impossible – incredible."

This was an incomprehensible enigma to all but the cardinal, for he was plainly embarrassed. The gentle eye of the Austrian had flared with one of those fires denoting a storm gathering. But there was no thunderous outbreak, for she went on, restraining herself:

"Come my lord of Taverney, make the feast complete by producing your magician. Where is he? In what box have you put Old Hocus Pocus?"

"Labrie, notify Baron Joseph Balsamo that her Royal Highness the Dauphiness desires to see him."

"Balsamo?" repeated the high lady, as the valet started off. "What an odd name!"

"I fancy I have heard it before," murmured the cardinal.

Five minutes passed with none thinking of breaking the stillness, when Andrea shuddered, for she heard before any other the step beneath the foliage. The branches were parted and right in front of Marie Antoinette, Joseph Balsamo appeared.

CHAPTER XI
A MARVEL OF MAGIC

Humble was Balsamo's bow; but immediately raising his intelligent and expressive brow, he fixed his clear eye, though with respect, on the chief guest, silently waiting for her to question him.

"If you are the person Baron Taverney has mentioned, pray draw nigh that we may see what a magician is like."

Balsamo came a step nearer and bowed to Marie Antoinette.

"So you make a business of foretelling?" said the latter, sipping the milk while regarding the new comer with more curiosity than she liked to betray.

"I make no business of it, but I do foretell, please your royal highness?" was the answer.

"Educated in an enlightened faith, we place faith solely in the mysteries of our religion."

"Undoubtedly they are worthy of veneration," responded the other dialoguist with a profound congé. "But the Cardinal de Rohan here, though Prince of the Church, will tell you that they are not the only ones worthy of respect."

The cardinal started, for his title had not been announced.

Not appearing to notice this revelation, Marie Antoinette pursued:

"But you must allow that they alone cannot be controverted."

"There can be fact as well as faith," replied Balsamo, with the same respect but with the same firmness.

"You speak a trifle darkly, my lord Baron of Magic. I am at heart a good Frenchwoman, but not in mind, and do not yet understand all the fineness of the language. They say I shall soon pick it up, even to the puns. Meanwhile, I must urge you to speak more plainly if you want my comprehension."

"I ask your highness to let me dwell obscure," said the baron, with a melancholy smile. "I should feel too much regret to reveal to so great a princess a future not equal to her hopes."

"Dear me, this is becoming serious," said Marie Antoinette, "and Abracadabra whets my curiosity in order to make me beg my fortune to be told."

"Heaven forbid my being forced into it," observed Balsamo coldly.

"Of course, for you would be put to much pains for little result," laughed the princess.

But her merriment died away without a courtier's echoing it; all suffered the influence of the mystic man who claimed the whole attention.

"Still it was you foretold my coming to Taverney?" said the mighty lady, to which Balsamo silently bowed. "How was the trick done, my lord baron?"

"Simply by looking into a glass of water, my liege lady," was the old noble's answer.

"If that be truly your magic mirror, it is guileless at any rate; may your words be as clear!"

The cardinal smiled, and the master of the place said:

"Your highness will not have to take lessons in punning."

"Nay, my dear host, do not flatter me, or flatter me better. It seems to me it was a mild quip; but, my lord," she resumed, turning toward Balsamo by that irresistible attraction drawing us to a danger, "if you can read the future in a glass for a gentleman, may you not read it for a lady in a decanter?"

"Perfectly; but the future is uncertain, and I should shrink from saddening your royal highness if a cloud veiled it, as I have already had the honor to say."

"Do you know me beforetimes? Where did you first see me?"

"I saw you as a child beside your august mother, that mighty queen."

"Empress, my lord."

"Queen by heart and mind, but such have weaknesses when they think they act for their daughters' happiness."

"I hope history will not record one single weakness in Maria Theresa," retorted the other.

"Because it does not know what is known solely to your highness, her mother and myself."

"Is there a secret among us three?" sneered the lady. "I must hear it."

"In Schoenbrunn Palace is the Saxony Cabinet, where the empress sits in private. One morning, about seven, the empress not being up, your highness entered this study, and perceived a letter of hers, open, on the writing-table."

The hearer blushed.

"Reading it, your highness took up a pen and struck out the three words beginning it."

"Speak them aloud!"

"'My dear Friend.'"

Marie Antoinette bit her lips as she turned pale.

"Am I to tell to whom the letter was addressed?" inquired the seer.

"No, no, but you may write it."

The soothsayer took out his memorandum book fastening with a gilt clasp, and with a kind of pencil from which flowed ink, wrote on a leaf. Detaching this page, he presented it to the princess, who read:

"The letter was addressed to the marchioness of Pompadour, mistress of King Louis XV."

The dauphiness' astounded look rose upon this clearly speaking man, with pure and steady voice, who appeared to tower over her although he bowed lowly.

"All this is quite true," she admitted, "and though I am unaware how you could learn this secret, I am bound to allow, before all, that you speak true."

"Then I may retire upon this innocent proof of my science."

"Not so, my lord baron," said the princess, nettled; "the wiser you are, the more I long for your forecast. You have only spoken of the past, and I demand the future."

Her feverish agitation could not escape the bystanders.

"Let me at least consult the oracle, to learn whether the prediction may be revealed."

"Good or bad, I must hear it!" cried Marie Antoinette with growing irritation. "I shall not believe it if good, taking it for flattery; but bad, I shall regard it as a warning, and I promise any way not to bear you ill will. Begin your witchcraft."

Balsamo took up the decanter with a broad mouth and stood it in a golden saucer. He raised it thus high up, and, after looking at it shook his head.

"I cannot speak. Some things must not be told to princes," he said.

"Because you have nothing to say?" and she smiled scornfully.

Balsamo appeared embarrassed, so that the cardinal began to laugh in his face and the baron grumbled.

"My wizard is worn out," he said. "Nothing is to follow but the gold turning into dry leaves, as in the Arabian tale."

"I would have preferred the leaves to all this show; for there is no shame in drinking from a nobleman's pewter goblet, while a dauphiness of France ought not to have to use the thimble-rigging cup of a charlatan."

Balsamo started erect as if a viper had bitten him.

"Your highness shall know your fate, since your blindness drives you to it."

These words were uttered in a voice so steady but so threatening that the hearers felt icy chills in their veins. The lady turned pale visibly.

"Do not listen to him, my daughter," whispered the old governess in German to her ward.

"Let her hear, for since she wanted to know, know she shall!" said Balsamo in the same language, which doubled the mystery over the incident. "But to you alone, lady."

"Be it so," said the latter. "Stand back!"

"I suppose this is just an artifice to get a private audience?" sneered she, turning again to the magician.

"Do not try to irritate me," said he; "I am but the instrument of a higher Power, used to enlighten you. Insult fate and it will revenge itself, well knowing how. I merely interpret its moves. Do not fling at me the wrath which will recoil on yourself, for you can not visit on me the woes of which I am the sinister herald."

"Then there are woes?" said the princess, softened by his respectfulness and disarmed by his apparent resignation.

"Very great ones."

"Tell me all. First, will my family live happy?"

"Your misfortunes will not reach those you leave at home. They are personal to you and your new family. This royal family has three members, the Duke of Berry, the Count of Provence, and the Count of Artois. They will all three reign."

"Am I to have no son?"

"Sons will be among your offspring, but you will deplore that one should live and the other die."

"Will not my husband love me?"

"Too well. But his love and your family's support will fail you."

"Those of the people will yet be mine."

"Popular love and support – the ocean in a calm. Have you seen it in a storm?"

"I will prevent it rising, or ride upon the billows."

"The higher its crest, the deeper the abyss."

"Heaven remains to me."

"Heaven does not save the heads it dooms."

"My head in danger? Shall I not reign a queen?"

"Yes – but would to God you never did."

The princess smiled disdainfully.

"Hearken, and remember," proceeded Balsamo. "Did you remark the subject on the tapestry of the first room you entered on French ground? The Massacre of the Innocents; the ominous figures must have remained in your mind. During that storm, did you see that the lightning felled a tree on your left, almost to crush your coach? Such presages are not to be interpreted but as fatal ones."

Letting her head fall upon her bosom, the princess reflected for a space before asking:

"How will those three die?"

"Your husband the king will die headless; Count Provence, legless; and Artois heartless."

"But myself? I command you to speak, or I shall hold all this as a paltry trick. Take care, my lord, for the daughter of Maria Theresa is not to be sported with – a woman who holds in hand the destinies of thirty millions of souls. You know no more, or your imagination is exhausted."

Balsamo placed the saucer and the decanter on a bench in the darkest nook of the arbor, which thus resembled a pythoness' cave; he led her within the gloom.

"Down on your knees," he said, alarming her by the action; "for you will seem to be imploring God to spare you the terrible outcome which you are to view."

Mechanically the princess obeyed, but as Balsamo touched the crystal with his magic wand, some frightful picture no doubt appeared in it, for the princess tried to rise, reeled, and screamed as she fell in a swoon.

They ran to her.

"That decanter?" she cried, when revived.

The water was limpid and stainless.

The wonder-worker had disappeared!