CHAPTER VII
THE YOUNG PRETENDER
And Lydie d'Aumont's eyes had watched his disappearing figure throughthe crowd, until she could bear the sight no longer, and closed themwith the pain.
An even, pleasant, very courteous voice roused her from her reverie.
"You are tired, Mlle. d'Aumont. May I--that is, I should be very proudif you would allow me to--er----"
She opened her eyes and saw the handsome face of "le petit Anglais"turned up to her with a look of humility, a deprecatory offer ofservice, and withal a strange mingling of compassion which somehow atthis moment, in her sensitive and nervous state, seemed to wound andsting her.
"I'm not the least tired," she said coldly; "I thank you, milor. Thecolours and the light were so dazzling for the moment, my eyes closedinvoluntarily."
"I humbly beg your pardon," said Eglinton with nervous haste; "Ithought that perhaps a glass of wine----"
"Tush child!" interposed Lady Eglinton in her harsh dry voice; "haveyou not heard that Mlle. d'Aumont is not fatigued. Offer her thesupport of your arm and take her to see the Chevalier de Saint George,who is waiting to bid her 'good-bye.'"
"Nay! I assure you I can walk alone," rejoined Lydie, taking no heedto the proffered arm which Lord Eglinton, in obedience to his mother'ssuggestion, was holding out toward her. "Where is His Majesty the Kingof England?" emphasizing the title with marked reproof, and lookingwith somewhat good-natured contempt at the young Englishman who, witha crestfallen air, had already dropped the arm which she had disdainedand stepped quickly out of her way, whilst a sudden blush spread overhis good-looking face.
He looked so confused and sheepish, so like a chidden child, that shewas instantly seized with remorse, as if she had teased a defenselessanimal, and though the touch of contempt was still apparent in herattitude, she said more kindly:
"I pray you forgive me, milor. I am loth to think that perhaps ourgallant Chevalier will never bear his rightful title in his owncountry. I feel that it cheers him to hear us--who are in truesympathy with him--calling him by that name. Shall we go find the Kingof England and wish him 'God-speed'?"
She beckoned to Lord Eglinton, but he had probably not yetsufficiently recovered from the snub administered to him to realizethat the encouraging glance was intended for him, and he hung back,not daring to follow, instinctively appealing to his mother forguidance as to what he should do.
"He is modest," said Lady Eglinton, with the air of a proud motherlauding her young offspring. "A heart of gold, my dear Mlle.d'Aumont!" she whispered behind her fan, "under a simple exterior."
Lydie shrugged her shoulders with impatience. She knew whither LadyEglinton's praises of her son would drift presently. The pompous ladylooked for all the world like a fussy hen, her stiff brocaded gown andvoluminous paniers standing out in stiff folds each side of her portlyfigure like a pair of wings, and to Lydie d'Aumont's proud spirit itseemed more than humiliating for a man, rich, young, apparently inperfect health, to allow himself to be domineered over by so vapid apersonality as was milady Eglinton.
Instinctively her thoughts flew back to Gaston; very differentphysically to "le petit Anglais;" undoubtedly not so attractive fromthe point of view of manly grace and bearing, but a man for all that!with a man's weaknesses and failings, and just that spice of devilryand uncertainty in him which was pleasing to a woman.
"So unreliable, my dear Mlle. d'Aumont," came in insinuating accentsfrom Lady Eglinton. "Look at his lengthy entanglement with Mlle. deSaint Romans."
Lydie gave a start sudden; had she spoken her thoughts out loudlywhilst her own mind was buried in happy retrospect? She must have beendreaming momentarily certainly, and must have been strangelyabsent-minded, for she was quite unconscious of having descended thealcove steps until she found herself walking between Lord Eglinton andhis odious mother, in the direction of the corridors, whilst miladywent prattling on with irritating monotony:
"You would find such support in my son. The Chevalier de SaintGeorge--er--I mean the King of England--trusts him absolutely, youunderstand--they have been friends since boyhood. Harry would do morefor him if he could, but he has not the power. Now as Comptroller ofFinance--you understand? You have such sympathy with the Stuartpretensions, Mademoiselle, and a union of sympathies would do muchtowards furthering the success of so just a cause; and if my son--youunderstand----"
Lydie's ears were buzzing with the incessant chatter. Had she not beenso absorbed in her thoughts she would have laughed at the absurdity ofthe whole thing. This insignificant nonentity beside her, with thestrength and character of a chicken, pushed into a place of influenceand power by that hen-like mother, and she--Lydie--lending a hand tothis installation of a backboneless weakling to the highest positionof France!
The situation would have been supremely ridiculous were it not for theelement of pathos in it--the pathos of a young life which might havebeen so brilliant, so full of activity and interest, now tied to theapron-strings of an interfering mother.
Lydie herself, though accustomed to rule in one of the widest spheresthat ever fell to woman's lot, wielded her sceptre with discretion andtact. In these days when the King was ruled by Pompadour, when Mme. duChatelet swayed the mind of Voltaire, and Marie Therese subjugated theHungarians, there was nothing of the blatant petticoat government inLydie's influence over her father. The obtrusive domination of a womanlike milady was obnoxious and abhorrent to her mind, proud of itsfeminity, gentle in the consciousness of its strength.
Now she feared that, forgetful of courtly manners, she might say or dosomething which would offend the redoubtable lady. There was still thewhole length of the banqueting-hall to traverse, also the corridor,before she could hope to be released from so unwelcome acompanionship.
Apparently unconscious of having roused Lydie's disapproval, miladycontinued to prattle. Her subject of conversation was still her son,and noting that his attention seemed to be wandering, she called tohim in her imperious voice:
"Harry! Harry!" she said impatiently. "Am I to to be your spokesmanfrom first to last? Ah!" she added, with a sigh, "men are not whatthey were when I was wooed and won. What say you, my dear Mlle. Lydie?The age of chivalry, of doughty deeds and bold adventures, is indeedpast and gone, else a young man of Lord Eglinton's advantages wouldnot depute his own mother to do his courting for him."
A shriek of laughter which threatened to be hysterical rose to Lydie'sthroat. How gladly would she have beaten a precipitate retreat.Unfortunately the room was crowded with people, who unconsciouslyimpeded progress. She turned and looked at "le petit Anglais," thesorry hero of this prosaic wooing, wondering what was his _role_ inthis silly, childish intrigue. She met his gentle eyes fixed upon herswith a look which somehow reminded her of a St. Bernard dog that shehad once possessed; there was such a fund of self-deprecation, suchabject apology in the look, that she felt quite unaccountably sorryfor him, and the laughter died before it reached her lips.
Something prompted her to try and reassure him; the same feeling wouldhave caused her to pat the head of her dog.
"I feel sure," she said kindly, "that Lord Eglinton will have no needof a proxy once he sets his mind on serious wooing."
"But this is serious!" retorted Lady Eglinton testily. Lydie shook herhead:
"As little serious as his lordship's desire to control the finances ofFrance."
"Oh! but who better fitted for the post than my son. He is sorich--the richest man in France, and in these days of bribery andcorruption--you understand, and--and being partly English--not wholly,I am thankful to say--for I abominate the English myself; but we mustown that they are very shrewd where money is concerned--and----"
"In the name of Heaven, milady," said Lydie irritably, "will you notallow your son to know his own mind? If he has a request to placebefore M. le Duc my father or before me, let him do so for himself."
"I think--er--perhaps Mlle. d'Aumont is right," here interposed LordEglinton gently. "You will--er--I hope, excus
e my mother,Mademoiselle; she is so used to my consulting her in everything thatperhaps---- You see," he continued in his nervous halting, way, "I--Iam rather stupid and I am very lazy; she thinks I should understandfinance, because I--but I don't believe I should; I----"
Her earnest eyes, fixed with good-humoured indulgence upon his anxiousface, seemed to upset him altogether. His throat was dry, and histongue felt as if it were several sizes too large for his parchedmouth. For the moment it looked as if the small modicum of couragewhich he possessed would completely give out, but noting that just forthe moment his mother was engaged in exchanging hasty greetings witha friend, he seemed to make a violent and sudden effort, and with theaudacity which sometimes assails the preternaturally weak, he plungedwildly into his subject.
"I have no desire for positions which I am too stupid to fill," hesaid, speaking so rapidly that Lydie could hardly follow him; "but,Mademoiselle, I entreat you do not believe that my admiration for youis not serious. I know I am quite unworthy to be even your lacquey,though I wouldn't mind being that, since it would bring me sometimesnear you. Please, please, don't look at me--I am such a clumsy fool,and I daresay I am putting things all wrong! My mother says," headded, with a pathetic little sigh, "that I shall spoil everything ifI open my mouth, and now I have done it, and you are angry, and I wishto God somebody would come and give me a kick!"
He paused, flushed, panting and excited, having come to the end of hiscourage, whilst Lydie did not know if she should be angry or sorry. Asmile hovered round her lips, yet she would gladly have seen somemanlike creature administer chastisement to this foolish weakling. Herkeenly analytical mind flew at once to comparisons.
Gaston de Stainville--and now this poor specimen of manhood! She hadtwice been wooed in this self-same room within half an hour; but howdifferent had been the methods of courting. A look of indulgence forthe weak, a flash of pride for the strong, quickly lit up herstatuesque face. It was the strong who had won, though womanlike, shefelt a kindly pity for him who did not even dare to ask for that whichthe other had so boldly claimed as his right--her love.
Fortunately, the _tete-a-tete_, which was rapidly becomingembarrassing--for she really did not know how to reply to this strangeand halting profession of love--was at last drawing to a close. At theend of the corridor Charles Edward Stuart, surrounded by a group offriends, had caught sight of her, and with gracious courtesy headvanced to meet her.
"Ah! the gods do indeed favour us," he said gallantly in answer to herrespectful salute, and nodding casually to Lady Eglinton, who hadbobbed him a grudging curtsey, "We feared that our enemy, Time,treading hard on our heels, would force us to depart ere we hadgreeted our Muse."
"Your Majesty is leaving us?" she asked. "So soon?"
"Alas! the hour is late. We start to-morrow at daybreak."
"God speed you, Sire!" she said fervently.
"To my death," he rejoined gloomily.
"To victory, Sire, and your Majesty's own kingdom!" she retortedcheerily. "Nay! I, your humble, yet most faithful adherent, refuse tobe cast down to-night. See," she added, pointing to the group ofgentlemen who had remained discreetly in the distance, "you have bravehearts to cheer you, brave swords to help you!"
"Would I were sure of a brave ship to rescue me and them if I fail!"he murmured.
She tossed her head with a characteristic movement of impatience.
"Nay! I was determined not to speak of failure to-night, Sire."
"Yet must I think of it," he rejoined, "since the lives of my friendsare dependent on me."
"They give their lives gladly for your cause."
"I would prefer to think that a good ship from France was ready totake them aboard if evil luck force us to flee."
"France has promised you that ship, Monseigneur," she said earnestly:
"If France meant you, Mademoiselle," he said firmly, "I would believein her."
"She almost means Lydie d'Aumont!" retorted the young girl, withconscious pride.
"Only for a moment," broke in Lady Eglinton spitefully; "but girlsmarry," she added, "and every husband may not be willing to be heldunder the sway of satin petticoats."
"If France fails you, Monseigneur," here interposed a gentle voice, "Ihave already had the honour of assuring you that there is enoughEglinton money still in the country to fit out a ship for your safety;and--er----"
Then, as if ashamed of this outburst, the second of which he had beenguilty to-night, "le petit Anglais" once more relapsed into silence.But Lydie threw him a look of encouragement.
"Well spoken, milor!" she said approvingly.
With her quick intuition she had already perceived that milady wasdispleased, and she took a malicious pleasure in dragging LordEglinton further into the conversation. She knew quite well thatmilady cared naught about the Stuarts or their fate. From the day ofher marriage she had dissociated herself from the cause, for thefurtherance of which her husband's father had given up home andcountry.
It was her influence which had detached the late Lord Eglinton fromthe fortunes of the two Pretenders; justly, perhaps, since theexpeditions were foredoomed to failure, and Protestant England rightlyor wrongly mistrusted all the Stuarts. But Lydie's romantic instinctscould not imagine an Englishman in any other capacity save as thechampion of the forlorn cause; one of the principal reasons why shehad always disliked the Eglintons was because they held themselvesaloof from the knot of friends who gathered round Charles Edward.
She was, therefore, not a little surprised to hear "le petit Anglais"promising at least loyal aid and succour in case of disaster, since hecould not give active support to the proposed expedition. That he hadmade no idle boast when he spoke of Eglinton money she knew quitewell, nor was it said in vain arrogance, merely as a statement offact. Milady's vexation proved that it was true.
Delighted and eager, she threw herself with all the ardour of herromantic impulses into this new train of thought suggested by LordEglinton's halting speech.
"Ah, milor," she said joyously, and not heeding Lady Eglinton's scowl,"now that I have an ally in you my dream can become a reality. Nay,Sire, you shall start for England with every hope, every assurance ofsuccess, but if you fail, you and those you care for shall be safe.Will you listen to my plan?"
"Willingly."
"Lord Eglinton is your friend--at least, you trust him, do you not?"
"I trust absolutely in the loyalty of his house toward mine," repliedCharles Edward unhesitatingly.
"Then do you agree with him, and with him alone, on a spot in Englandor Scotland where a ship would find you in case of failure."
"That has been done already," said Eglinton simply.
"And if ill-luck pursues us, we will make straight for that spot andawait salvation from France."
Lydie said no more; she was conscious of a distinct feeling ofdisappointment that her own plan should have been forestalled. She hadfondled the notion, born but a moment ago, that if her own influencewere not sufficiently great in the near future to induce King Louis tosend a rescue ship for the Young Pretender if necessary, she couldthen, with Lord Eglinton's money, fit out a private expedition andsnatch the last of the Stuarts from the vengeance of his enemies. Theromantic idea had appealed to her, and she had been forestalled. Shetried to read the thoughts of those around her. Lady Eglinton wasevidently ignorant of the details of the plan; she seemed surprisedand vastly disapproving. Charles Edward was whispering a few hastywords in the ear of his friend, whom obviously he trusted more than hedid the word of France or the enthusiasm of Mlle. d'Aumont.
"Le petit Anglais" had relapsed into his usual state of nervousness,and his eyes wandered uneasily from Lydie's face to that of his royalcompanion, whilst with restless fingers he fidgeted the signet ringwhich adorned his left hand. Suddenly he slipped the ring off andCharles Edward Stuart examined it very attentively, then returned itto its owner with a keen look of intelligence and a nod of approval.
Lydie was indeed too late with her romantic p
lan; these two men hadthought it all out before her in every detail--even to the ring. She,too, had thought of a token which would be an assurance to thefugitives that they might trust the bearer thereof. She felt quitechildishly vexed at all this. It was an unusual thing in France thesedays to transact serious business without consulting Mlle. d'Aumont.
"You are taking it for granted, Sire, that France will fail you?" shesaid somewhat testily.
"Nay! why should you say that?" he asked.
"Oh! the ring--the obvious understanding between you and milor."
"Was it not your wish, Mademoiselle?"
"Oh! a mere suggestion--in case France failed you, and I werepowerless to remind her of her promise."
"Pa ma foi," he rejoined gallantly, "and you'll command me, I'llbelieve that contingency to be impossible. The whole matter of thering is a whim of Eglinton's, and I swear that I'll only trust toFrance and to you."
"No, no!" she said quickly, her own sound common sense coming to therescue just in time to rout the unreasoning petulance of a while ago,which truly had been unworthy of her. "It was foolish of me to taunt,and I pray your Majesty's forgiveness. It would have been joy andpride to me to feel that the plans for your Majesty's safety had beendevised by me, but I gladly recognize that milor Eglinton hath in thismatter the prior claim."
Her little speech was delivered so simply and with such a noble air ofself-effacement that it is small wonder that Charles Edward could butstand in speechless admiration before her. She looked such anexquisite picture of proud and self-reliant womanhood, as she stoodthere, tall and erect, the stiff folds of her white satin gownsurrounding her like a frame of ivory round a dainty miniature. Tearsof enthusiasm were in her eyes, her lips were parted with a smile ofencouragement, her graceful head, thrown slightly back and crownedwith the burnished gold of her hair, stood out in perfect reliefagainst the soft-toned gold and veined marble of the walls.
"I entreat you, Mademoiselle," said the Young Pretender at last, "donot render my departure too difficult by showing me so plainly allthat I relinquish when I quit the fair shores of France."
"Your Majesty leaves many faithful hearts in Versailles, none the lesstrue because they cannot follow you. Nay! but methinks Lord Eglintonand I will have to make a pact of friendship, so that when yourMajesty hath gone we might often speak of you."
"Speak of me often and to the King," rejoined Charles Edward, with aquick return to his former mood. "I have a premonition that I shallhave need of his help."
Then he bowed before her, and she curtsyed very low until her younghead was almost down to the level of his knees. He took her hand andkissed it with the respect due to an equal.
"Farewell, Sire, and God speed you!" she murmured. He seemed quitereluctant to go. Gloom had once more completely settled over hisspirits, and Lydie d'Aumont, clad all in white like some gracefulstatue carved in marble, seemed to him the figure of Hope on which arelentless fate forced him to turn his back.
His friends now approached and surrounded him. Some were leavingVersailles and France with him on the morrow, others accompanied himin spirit only with good wishes and anxious sighs. Charles EdwardStuart, the unfortunate descendant of an unfortunate race, turned witha final appealing look to the man he trusted most.
"Be not a broken reed to me, Eglinton," he said sadly. "Try andprevent France from altogether forgetting me."
Lydie averted her head in order to hide the tears of pity which hadrisen to her eyes.
"Oh, unfortunate Prince! if thine only prop is this poor weaklingwhose dog-like affection has no moral strength to give it support!"
When she turned once more toward him, ready to bid him a final adieu,he was walking rapidly away from her down the long narrow corridor,leaning on Eglinton's arm and closely surrounded by his friends. Inthe far distance King Louis the Well-beloved strolled leisurely towardhis departing guest, leaning lightly on the arm of Mme. la Marquise dePompadour.
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