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CHAPTER XXI
COUNTESS CUT COUNTESS

On the road to Paris from Luciennes the poor Countess Dubarry was racing along like a disembodied spirit. An advice from her brother Jean had dashed her down when she had brought the king to the point of arranging for her presentation day.

"So the old donkey has fooled us?" she cried, when she was alone with him.

"I am afraid so. But listen: I stayed in town because I am not trustful like you – and I am not wrong. An hour before the time when I ought to call for the old countess at her inn, I met my man Patrick at the door, where I had sent him to stand sentry since daybreak. He had seen nothing wrong, and I left the carriage and went up stairs quite assured. At her door a woman stopped me to say that her mistress had upset the chocolate, which she boiled herself, on her foot, and was crippled."

"Oh, heavens! you drive me to despair, Jean."

"I am not in despair. You can do what I could not; if there be any imposture you can discover it, and somehow we will punish her. I was consulting a lawyer; he says we must not thrash a person in a house; it is fine and prison, while without – "

"Beat a woman, a countess of the old stock? You mad rogue, let me rather see her and try another method."

Jean conducted her to the Chanticleer Inn, where the old lady dwelt. At the foot of the stairs she was stopped by the landlady.

"Countess Bearn is ill," she said.

"Just so; I am coming to see how she is," and Jeanne darted by her as nimble as a fawn.

"Your ladyship here!" ejaculated the old lady, on seeing the court beauty's face screwed up into the conventional expression of condolence.

"I have only just learnt of the accident. You seem to be in much pain."

"My right foot is scalded. But misfortunes will happen."

"But you know the king expected you this morning?"

"You double my despair, lady."

"His majesty was vexed at your not coming."

"My excuse is in my sufferings, and I must present my most humble excuses to his majesty."

"I am not saying this to cause you pain," said Lady Dubarry, seeing that the old noblewoman was angry, "but just to show you how set his majesty was on seeing you for the step which made him grateful. I regret the accident the more as I think it was due to your excitement from meeting a certain person abruptly at my house."

"The lady who came as I went away?"

"The same; my sister, Mademoiselle Dubarry; only she bore another name when you met her – that of Mademoiselle Flageot."

"Oh, indeed!" said the old dame, with unhidden sourness. "Did you send her to deceive me?"

"No, to do you a service at the same time as you did me one. Let us speak seriously. In spite of your wound, painful but not dangerous, could you make the effort to ride to Luciennes and stand up a short while before the king?"

"Impossible; if you could bear the sight – "

"I wish to assure myself of its extent."

To her great surprise, while writhing in agony, the lady let Jeanne undo the bandage and expose a burn, horridly raw. It spoke eloquently, for, as Lady Bearn had seen and recognized Chon, this self-inflicted hurt raised her to the height of Mutius Scaevola.

The visitor mutely admired. Come to consciousness, the old countess fully enjoyed her triumph; her wild eye gloated on the young woman kneeling at her foot. The latter replaced the bands with the tenderness of her sex to the ailing, placed the limb on the cushions as before, and said as she took a seat beside her:

"You are a grander character than I suspected. I ask your pardon for not having gone straight to business at the start. Name your conditions."

"I want the two hundred thousand livres at stake in my lawsuit to be guaranteed me," replied the old dame, with a firmness clearly proving that one queen was speaking with another.

"But that would make double if you won your case."

"No, for I look upon the sum I am contesting with the Saluces for as mine own. The like sum is something to thank you for in addition to the honor of your acquaintance. I ask a captaincy and a company for my son, who has martial instincts inborn but would make a bad soldier because he is fit for officership alone. A captaincy now, with a promotion to a colonelcy next year."

"Who is to raise the regiment?"

"The king, for if I spent my money in so doing I should be no better off. I ask the restitution of my vineyard in Touraine; the royal engineers took six acres for the Grand Canal, and condemning it at the expert's valuation I was cheated out of half price. I went to some law expenses in the matter and my whole bill at Lawyer Flageot's is nearly ten thousand livres."

"I will pay this last bill out of my own purse," said Jeanne. "Is this all?"

"Stay, I cannot appear before our great monarch thus. Versailles and its splendors have been so long strange to me that I have no dresses."

"I foresaw that, and ordered a costume at the same maker's as mine own. It will be ready by noon to-morrow."

"I have no jewels."

"The court jewelers will loan you my set called the 'Louise,' as I bought them when the Princess Louise sold her jewels to go into the nunnery. They will charge you two hundred thousand and ten livres, but will take it back in a day or two for two hundred thousand, so that thus you will receive that sum in cash."

"Very well, countess; I have nothing to desire."

"I will write you my pledges, but first, the little letter to the king, which I beg to dictate. We will exchange the documents."

"That is fair," said the old fox, drawing the table toward her, and getting the pen and paper ready, as Lady Dubarry spoke.

"Sire: The happiness I feel at seeing your majesty's acceptance of my offer to present the Countess Dubarry at court – "

The pen stuck and spluttered.

"A bad pen; you should change it!"

"Never mind; it must be broken in."

" – emboldens me (the letter proceeded) to solicit your majesty's favorable eye when I appear at Versailles to-morrow under permission. I venture to hope for a kind welcome from my kinship to a house of which every head has shed his blood in the service of your august ancestors. Anastasie Euphramie Rodolphe, Countess of Bearn."

In return, the plotter handed over the notes and the order on her jewelry.

"Will you let me send my brother for you at three o'clock with the coach?"

"Just so."

"Mind you take care of yourself."

"Fear nothing. I am a noblewoman, and as you have my word, I will keep it to-morrow though I die for it."

So they parted, the old countess, lying down, going over her documents, and the young one lighter than she arrived, but with her heart aching at not having baffled the old litigant who easily defeated the king of France. In the main room, she perceived her brother, draining a second bottle of wine in order not to rouse suspicions on his reasons for staying in the inn. He jumped up and ran to her.

"How goes it?" he asked.

"As Marshal Saxe said to the king on showing him the field of Fontenoy: 'Sire, learn by this sight how dear and agonizing a victory is.'"

"But you have a patroness?"

"Yes, but she costs us a million! It is cruel; but I could not help myself. Mind how you handle her, or she may back out, or charge double her present price."

"What a woman! A Roman!"

"A Spartan. But bring her to Luciennes at three, for I shall not be easy till I have her under lock and key."

As the countess sprang into the coach, Jean watched her and muttered:

"By Crœsus, we cost France a nice round sum! It is highly flattering to the Dubarrys."

CHAPTER XXII
AT A LOSS FOR EVERYTHING

At eleven A. M., Lady Dubarry arrived at her house in Valois Street, determined to make Paris her starting-point for her march to Versailles. Lady Bearn was there, kept close when not under her eye, with the utmost art of the doctors trying to alleviate the pain of her burn.

From over night Jean and Chon and the waiting-woman had been at work and none who knew not the power of gold would have believed in the wonders they wrought in short time.

The hairdresser was engaged to come at six o'clock; the dress was a marvel on which twenty-six seamstresses were sewing the pearls, ribbons and trimmings, so that it would be done in time instead of taking a week as usual. At the same hour as the hairdresser, it would be on hand. As for the coach, the varnish was drying on it in a shed built to heat the air. The mob flocked to see it, a carriage superior to any the dauphiness had; with the Dubarry war-cry emblazoned on the panels: "Charge Onward!" palliated by doves billing and cooing on one side, and a heart transfixed with a dart on the other. The whole was enriched with the attributes of Cupid bows, quivers and the hymeneal torch. This coach was to be at the door at nine.

While the preparations were proceeding at the favorites' the news ran round the town.

Idle and indifferent as the Parisians pretend to be, they are fonder of novelty than any other people. Lady Dubarry in her regal coach paraded before the populace like an actress on the stage.

One is interested in those whose persons are known.

Everybody knew the beauty, as she was eager to show herself in the playhouse, on the promenade and in the stores, like all pretty, rich and young belles. Besides, she was known by her portraits, freaks, and the funny negro boy Zamore. People crowded the Palais Royal, not to see Rousseau play chess, worse luck to the philosophers! but to admire the lovely fairy in her fine dresses and gilded coach, which were so talked about.

Jean Dubarry's saying that "the Dubarrys cost the country a nice sum" was deep, and it was only fair that France who paid the bill, should see the show.

Jeanne knew that the French liked to be dazzled; she was more one of the nation than the queen, a Polander; and as she was kindly, she tried to get her money's worth in the display.

Instead of lying down for a rest as her brother suggested, she took a bath of milk for her complexion, and was ready by six for the hairdresser. A headdress for a lady to go to the court in was a building which took time, in those days. The operator had to be not only a man of art, but of patience. Alone among the craftsmen, hairdressers were allowed to wear the sword like gentlemen.

At six o'clock the court hairdresser, the great Lubin, had not arrived. Nor at a quarter past seven; the only hope was that, like all great men, Lubin was not going to be held cheap by coming punctually.

But a running-footman was sent to learn about him, and returned with the news that Lubin had left his house and would probably arrive shortly.

"There has been a block of vehicles on the way," explained the viscount.

"Plenty of time," said the countess. "I will try on my dress while awaiting him. Chon, fetch my dress."

"Your ladyship's sister went off ten minutes ago to get it," said Doris.

"Hark, to wheels!" interrupted Jean. "It is our coach."

No, it was Chon, with the news that the dressmaker, with two of her assistants, was just starting with the dress to try it on and finish fitting it. But she was a little anxious.

"Viscount," said the countess, "won't you send for the coach?"

"You are right, Jeanne. Take the new horses to Francian the coach-builder's," he ordered at the door, "and bring the new coach with them harnessed to it."

As the sound of the departing horses was still heard, Zamore trotted in with a letter.

"Buckra gemman give Zamore letter."

"What gentleman?"

"On horseback, at the door."

"Read it, dear, instead of questioning. I hope it is nothing untoward."

"Really, viscount, you are very silly to be so frightened," said the countess, but on opening the letter, she screamed and fell half dead on the lounge.

"No hairdresser! no dress! no coach!" she panted, while Chon rushed to her and Jean picked up the letter.

Thus it ran in a feminine handwriting:

"Be on your guard. You will have no hairdresser, dress or coach this evening. I hope you will get this in time. As I do not seek your gratitude, I do not name myself. If you know of a sincere friend, take that as me."

"This is the last straw," cried Jean in his rage. "By the Blue Moon, I must kill somebody! No hairdresser? I will scalp this Lubin. For it is half-past seven, and he has not turned up. Malediction!"

He was not going to court, so he did not hesitate to tear at his hair.

"The trouble is the dress," groaned Chon. "Hairdressers can be found anywhere."

The countess said nothing, but she heaved a sigh which would have melted the Choiseul party had they heard it. Then:

"Come, come," said Chon; "let us be calm. Let us hunt up another hairdresser, and see about that dress not coming."

"Then there is the coach," said Jean. "It ought to have been here by this. It is a plot. Will you not make Sartines arrest the guilty ones – Maupeou sentence them to death – and the whole gang be burned with their fellows on Execution Place? I want to rack the hairdresser, break the dressmaker on the wheel, and flay the coachbuilder alive."

The countess had come to her senses but only to see the dreadful dilemma the better.

At the height of this scene of tribulation, echoing from the boudoir to the street door, while the footmen were blundering over each other in confusion at a score of different orders, a young blade in an applegreen silk coat and vest, lilac breeches and white silk stockings, skipped out of a cab, crossed the deserted sill and the courtyard, bounded up the stairs and rapped on the dressing-room door.

Jean was wrestling with a chins stand with which his coat-tail was entangled, while steadying a huge Japanese idol which he had struck too hard with his fist, when the three knocks, wary, modest and delicate, came at the panel.

Jean opened it with a fist which would have beaten in the gates of Gaza. But the stranger eluded the shock by a leap, and falling on his feet in the third position of dancing, he said:

"My lord, I come to offer my service as hairdresser to the Countess Dubarry, who, I hear, is commanded to present herself at court."

"A hairdresser!" cried the Dubarrys, ready to hug him and dragging him into the room. "Did Lubin send you?"

"You are an angel," said the countess.

"Nobody sent me," returned the young man. "I read in the newspapers that your ladyship was going to court this evening, and I thought I might have a chance of showing that I have a new idea for a court headdress."

"What might be your name, younker?" demanded Jean, distrustfully.

"Leonard, unknown at present, but if the lady will only try me, it will be celebrated to-morrow. Only I must see her dress, that I may create the headdress in harmony."

"Oh my dress, my poor, poor dress!" moaned the countess, recalled to reality by the allusion. "What is the use of having one's hair done up, when one has no robe?" and she fell back on the lounge.

At this instant the doorbell rang. It was a dress-box which the janitor took from a porter in the street, which the butler took from him and which Jean tore out of his hands. He took off the lid, plunged his hand into the depths and yelled with glee. It enclosed a court dress of China satin, with flowers appliqué, and the lace trimming of incredible value.

"A dress!" gasped Jeanne, almost fainting with joy as she had with grief. "But how can it suit me, who was not measured for it?"

Chon tried it with the tape measure.

"It is right in length and width of the waist," said Chon. "This is fabulous."

"The material is wonderful," said Jean.

"The whole is terrifying," said the countess.

"Nonsense! This only proves that if you have bitter enemies, you have some sweet friends."

"It cannot be a mere human friend, Jean," said Chon, "for how would such know the mischief set against us? it must be a sylph."

"I don't care if it is the Old Harry, if he will help me against the Grammonts! He is not so black as those wretches," said the countess.

"Now I think of it, I wager you may entrust your hair to this hairdresser, for he must be sent by the same friend who furnishes the dress," suggested Jean. "Own up that your story was pure gammon?"

"Not at all," protested the young man, showing the newspaper. "I kept it to make the curls for the hair."

"It is no use, for I have no carriage."

"Hark, here it is rolling up to our door," exclaimed Chon.

"Quick!" shouted Jean, "do not let them get away without our knowing to whom we owe all these kindnesses."

And he rushed with janitor, steward and footmen out on the street. It was too late. Before the door stood two magnificent bay horses, with a gilded coach, lined with white satin. Not a trace of driver or footmen. A man in the street had run up to get the job of holding the horses and those who brought them had left him in charge. A hasty hand had blotted out the coat of arms on the panels and painted a rose.

All this counter-action to the misadventures had taken place in an hour.

Jean had the horses brought into the yard, locking the gates and pocketing the key. Then he returned to the room where the hairdresser was about to give the lady the first proofs of his skill.

"Miracle!" said Chon, "the robe fits perfectly, except an inch out in front, too long; but we can take it up in a minute."

"Will the coach pass muster?" inquired the countess.

"It is in the finest taste. I got into it to try the springs," answered Jean. "It is lined with white satin, and scented with attar of roses."

"Then everything is going on swimmingly," said the countess clapping her hands. "Go on, Master Leonard; if you succeed your fortune is made."

With the first stroke of the comb, Leonard showed that he was an experienced hand. In three-quarters of an hour, Lady Dubarry came forth from his hands more seductive than Aphrodite; for she had more clothes on her, and she was quite as handsome.

"You shall be my own hairdresser," said the lady, eyeing herself in a hand glass, "and every time you do my hair up for a court occasion, you shall have fifty gold pieces. Chon, count out a hundred to the artist, for I want him to consider fifty as a retaining fee. But you must work for none but me."

"Then take your money back, my lady. I want to be free. Liberty is the primary boon of mankind."

"God bless us! It is a philosophic hairdresser!" groaned Jean, lifting his hands. "What are we coming to? Well, Master Leonard, take the hundred, and do as you deused well please. Come to your coach, countess."

These words were addressed to Countess Bearn, who limped out of the inner room.

"Four of you footmen take the lady between you," ordered Jean, "and carry her gently down the stairs. If she utters a single groan, I will have you flogged."

Leonard disappeared during this delicate task.

"Where can he have slipped away?" the young countess wanted to know.

"Where? By some rat hole or bang through the wall!" said the viscount. "As the spirits cut away. Have a care, my dear, lest your headdress becomes a wasp nest, your dress a cobweb, and your carriage a pumpkin drawn by a pair of mice, on arriving at Versailles."

Enunciating this dreadful threat, Viscount Jean got into the carriage, in which was already placed Countess Bearn and the happy woman to whom she was to stand sponsor.

CHAPTER XXIII
THE PRESENTATION

Versailles is still fine to look upon; but it was splendid to view in the period of its glory.

Particularly was it resplendent when a great ceremony was performed, when the wardrobes and warehouses were ransacked to display their sumptuous treasures, and the dazzling illuminations doubled the magic of its wealth.

It had degenerated, but it still was glowing when it opened all its doors and lit up all its flambeaux to hail the court reception of Countess Dubarry. The curious populace forgot its misery and its rags before so much bewildering show, and crammed the squares and Paris road.

All the palace windows spouted flame, and the skyrockets resembled stars floating and shooting in a golden dust.

The king came out of his private rooms at ten precisely, dressed with more care than usual, his lace being richer and the jewels in his garter and shoe buckles being worth a fortune. Informed by Satines that the court ladies were plotting against his favorite, he was careworn and trembled with fury when he saw none but men in the ante-chamber. But he took heart when, in the queen's drawing-room, set aside for the reception, he saw in a cloud of powder and diamond luster, his three daughters, and all the ladies who had vowed the night before to stay away. The Duke of Richelieu ran from one to another, playfully reproaching them for giving in and complimenting them on thinking better of it.

"But what has made you come, duke?" they naturally challenged him.

"Oh, I am not here really – I am but the proxy for my daughter, Countess Egmont. If you will look around you will not see her; she alone, with Lady Grammont and Lady Guemenee has kept the pledge to keep aloof. I am sure what will happen to me for practically staying away. I shall be sent into exile for the fifth time, or to the Bastille for the fourth. That will end my plotting, and I vow to conspire never again."

The king remarked the absentees, and he went up to the Duke of Choiseul who affected the utmost calm and demanded:

"I do not see the Duchess of Grammont."

"Sire, my sister is not well, and she begs me to offer her most humble respects," said Choiseul, only succeeding in flimsy indifference.

"That is bad for her!" ominously said the sovereign, turning his back on the duke and thus facing Prince Guemenee.

"Have you brought your wife?" he questioned.

"Impossible, your majesty: when I went to bring her, she was sick abed."

"Nothing could be worse," said the king. "Good-evening, marshal," he said to Richelieu, who bowed with the suppleness of a young courtier. "You do not seem to have a touch of the complaint?"

"Sire, I am always in good health when I have the pleasure of beholding your majesty."

"But I do not see your daughter the Countess of Egmont. What is the reason of her absence?"

"Alas! sire," responded the old duke, assuming the most sorrowful mien, "my poor child is the more indisposed from the mishap depriving her of the happiness of this occasion, but – "

"Lady Egmont unwell, whose health was the most robust in the realm! this is sad for her!" and the king turned his back on the old courtier as he had on the others whom he snubbed.

Gloomy, anxious and irritated, the king went over to the window, and seizing the carved handle of the sash with one hand, he cooled his fevered brow against the pane. The courtiers could be heard chattering, like leaves rustling before the tempest, while all eyes stared at the clock; it struck the half-hour, when a great uproar of vehicles rumbling on the yard cobblestones resounded under the carriage-way vault. Suddenly the royal brow brightened and a flash shot from his eyes.

"The Right Honorable Lady the Countess of Dubarry!" roared the usher to the grand master of ceremonies. "The Right Honorable the Countess of Bearn!"

Different sensations were making all hearts leap. Invincibly drawn by curiosity, a flood of courtiers moved toward the monarch.

The wife of the Marshal of Mirepoix was carried close up to the king, and though she had been in the front of the anti-Dubarryists, she clasped her hands ready for adoration, and exclaimed:

"Oh, how lovely she is!"

The king turned and smiled on the speaker.

"But she is not a mere mortal," said Richelieu; "she is a fairy," which won him the end of the smile.

In truth, never had the countess been fairer, more winsome in expression, more modest in bearing, more noble in figure, more elegant in step or more cunning in showing emotion; her like had never excited admiration in the queen's drawing-room.

Charmingly beautiful, richly but not flauntingly dressed and notable for a tastefully novel headdress, she advanced held by the hand of Countess Bearn. Spite of atrocious pangs, the latter did not hobble or even wince, though the rouge fell in flakes from her face as each step wrung her to the core.

All eyes turned on the singular pair.

The old dame, with an old-fashioned low-necked robe, and her hair built up a foot high above her bright but deep-set eyes like an osprey's, her splendid attire and her skeleton-tread, seemed the image of the past giving her hand to the present. This model of cold, dry dignity guiding decent and voluptuous beauty, struck most with admiration and astonishment.

The vivid contrast made the king fancy that Countess Bearn was bringing him his favorite more youthful and brilliant than ever.

"You have a very fair novice to present, my lady," said he; "but she also has a noble introductress, than whom there is not one whom I am more pleased to see again at court."

The old lady courtesied.

"Go and bow to my daughters," whispered the monarch to Jeanne, "and show that you know how to courtesy. I hope you will not be dissatisfied with the way they reply to you."

His eyes were fixed upon his daughters and compelled them to show politeness, and as Lady Dubarry bowed more lowly than court etiquette prescribed, they were touched, and embraced her with a cordiality which pleased their father.

Henceforward, the countess' success became a triumph.

The Duke of Richelieu, as the victor of Mahon, knew how to maneuver; he went and placed himself behind the chair ready for Countess Dubarry, so that he was near her when the presentation was over, without having to battle with the crowd. Lady Mirepoix, knowing how lucky her old friend was in warfare, had imitated him, and drew her stool close to the favorite's chair.

Supported by the royal love, and the favorable welcome of the royal princesses, Jeanne looked less timidly around among the noblemen, though it was among the ladies that she expected enemies.

"Ah, my Lord of Richelieu," she said, "I had to come here to find you, for you have let a week pass without calling at Luciennes."

"I was preparing for the pleasure of seeing you here, certain here to meet!" "I wish you had imparted the certainty to me, for I was none too sure on that head – considering that I am surrounded by plots to thwart me."

She glared at the old gallant who bore the glance imperturbably.

"Plots? Goodness! what are you talking about?"

"In the first place my hairdresser was spirited away."

"Was he, indeed! what a lucky thing that I sent you a pearl of his craft whom my daughter the Countess of Egmont found somewhere – an artiste most superior to the general run, even to the royal perrukeers, my little Leonard."

"Leonard," repeated the lady.

"Yes, a little fellow who does up my Septimanie's tresses, and whom she keeps hidden from all eyes, as a miser does his cash-box. You are not complaining of him, I think, for your ladyship is turned out, as barbers say, marvelously. Curiously enough, the style reminds me of a sketch which the court painter Boucher gave my daughter, for her to be dressed in accord with it, had she not fallen ill. Poor Seppie! But you were talking of plots?"

"Yes, they kept back my dress."

"This is odious! Though you are not to be pitied when arrayed in such a choice China silk; with flower work applied; now, had you applied to me in your quandary, as I hope you will in the future, I would have sent you the dress my daughter had made for her presence here – it is so like this, that I could vow it is the same."

Countess Dubarry seized both his hands, beginning to understand who was the enchanter who had saved her from the embarrassment.

"I suppose it was in your daughter's coach that I was brought here?" she said.

"Oh, I should know hers, for it was renovated for this occasion with white satin; but there was no time to paint her blazon upon the panels – "

"Only time to paint a rose! Duke, you are a delightful nobleman."

The old peer kissed the hands, of which he made a warm and perfumed mask. Feeling them thrill, he started and asked the cause.

"Who is that man yonder, in a Prussian officer's dress, with black eyes and expressive countenance, by Prince Guemenee?"

"Some superior officer whom the king of Prussia sends to honor your presentation."

"Do not laugh, duke; but that man was in France three or four years ago, and I have been seeking for him everywhere without avail."

"You are in error, countess; the stranger is Count Fenix, who arrived but yesterday."

"How hard he looks at me!"

"Nay, how tenderly everybody is looking at you!"

"Look, he is bowing to me!"

"Everybody is doing that, if they have not done so."

A prey to extraordinary emotion, the lady did not heed the duke's compliments, and, with her sight riveted on the stranger who captivated her attention, she quitted Richelieu, in spite of herself, to move toward the foreigner. The king was watching her and perceived the movement. He thought she wanted him, and approached her, as he had quite long enough stood aloof out of regard for the social restrictions. But the countess was so engrossed that her mind would not be diverted.

"Sire, who is that Prussian officer, now turning away from Prince Guemenee to look this way?"

"The stout figure with the square face enframed in a golden collar? – accredited from my cousin of Prussia – some philosopher of his stamp. I am glad that German philosophy celebrates the triumph of King Petticoat the Third, as they nickname the Louis for their devotion to the sex of which you are the brightest gem. His title is Count Fenix," added the sovereign reflecting.

"It is he," thought Countess Dubarry, but as she kept silence the king proceeded, raising his voice:

"Ladies, the dauphiness arrives at Compiegne to-morrow, the journey having been shortened. Her royal highness will receive at midday precisely. All the ladies presented at court will be of the reception party, except those who were absent to-day. The journey is fatiguing, and her highness can have no desire to aggravate the ills of those who are indisposed."

He looked with severity at Choiseul, Guemenee and Richelieu. A silence of terror surrounded the speaker, whose words were fully understood as meaning disgrace.

"Sire, I pray the exception for the Countess of Egmont, as she is the daughter of my most faithful friend, the Duke of Richelieu."