Petticoat Rule

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  CHAPTER XI

  LA BELLE IRENE

  Monsieur Durand had indeed not exaggerated when he spoke of M. leControleur's bedchamber being overcrowded this same eventful morning.

  All that France possessed of nobility, of wit and of valour, seemed tohave found its way on this beautiful day in August past the magicportal guarded by Baptiste, the dragon, to the privileged enclosurebeyond, where milor in elegant _robe de chambre_ reclined upon hisgorgeous couch, whilst Madame, clad in hooped skirt and panniers ofdove-gray silk, directed the affairs of France from the embrasure of awindow.

  "Achille, my shoes!"

  We must surmise that his lordship had been eagerly awaiting thestriking of the bracket clock which immediately faced the bed, for themoment the musical chimes had ceased to echo in the crowded room hehad thrown aside the lace coverlet which had lain across his legs andcalled peremptorily for his valet.

  "Only half-past ten, milor!" came in reproachful accents from a pairof rosy lips.

  "Ma foi, so it is!" exclaimed Lord Eglinton, with well-feignedsurprise, as he once more glanced up at the clock.

  "Were you then so bored in my company," rejoined the lady, with apout, "that you thought the hour later?"

  "Bored!" he exclaimed. "Bored, did you say, Madame? Perish the verythought of boredom in the presence of Mme. la Comtesse de Stainville!"

  But in spite of this gallant assertion, M. le Controleur seemed in avast hurry to quit the luxuriance of his azure-hung throne. M.Achille--that paragon among flunkeys--looked solemnly reproachful.Surely milor should have known by now that etiquette demanded that heshould stay in bed until he had received every person of high rank whodesired an intimate audience.

  There were still some high-born, exalted, and much beribbonedgentlemen who had not succeeded in reaching the inner precincts ofthat temple and fount of honours and riches--the bedside of M. leControleur. But Monseigneur le Prince de Courtenai was there--he inwhose veins flowed royal blood, and who spent a strenuous life inendeavouring to make France recognize this obvious fact. He sat in anarm-chair at the foot of the bed, discussing the unfortunate events ofJune 16th at Piacenza and young Comte de Maillebois's subsequentmasterly retreat on Tortone, with Christian Louis de Montmorenci, Ducde Luxembourg, the worthy son of an able father and newly createdMarshal of France.

  Close to them, Monsieur le Comte de Vermandois, Grand Admiral ofFrance, was intent on explaining to M. le Chancelier d'Aguesseau whyEngland just now was supreme mistress of the seas. M. d'Isenghientalked poetry to Jolyot Crebillon, and M. le Duc d'Harcourt discussedVoltaire's latest play with ex-comedian and ex-ambassadorNericault-Destouche, whilst Mme. la Comtesse de Stainville, stillcalled "la belle brune de Bordeaux" by her many admirers, had beenendeavouring to divert M. le Controleur's attention from thismultiplicity of abstruse subjects.

  Outside this magic circle there was a gap, a barrier of parquetflooring which no one would dare to traverse without a distinct lookof encouragement from M. Achille. His Majesty had not yet arrived, andtongues wagged freely in the vast and gorgeous room, with its row oftall windows which gave on the great slopes of the Park of Versailles.Through them came the pleasing sound of the perpetual drip from themonumental fountains, the twitter of sparrows, the scent of lingeringroses and of belated lilies. No other sound from that outside world,no other life save the occasional footstep of a gardener along thesanded walks. But within all was chatter and bustle; women talked, menlaughed and argued, society scandals were commented upon and thenewest fashions in coiffures discussed. The men wore cloth coats ofsober hues, but the women had donned light-coloured dresses, for thesummer was at its height and this August morning was aglow withsunshine.

  Mme. de Stainville's rose-coloured gown was the one vivid patch ofcolour in the picture of delicate hues. She stood close to M. leControleur's bedside and unceremoniously turned her back on the restof the company; we must presume that she was a very privilegedvisitor, for no one--not even Monseigneur le Prince deCourtenai--ventured to approach within earshot. It was understood thatin milor's immediate entourage la belle Irene alone was allowed to befrivolous, and we are told that she took full advantage of thispermission.

  All chroniclers of the period distinctly aver that the lady was vastlyentertaining; even M. de Voltaire mentions her as one of thesprightliest women of that light-hearted and vivacious Court.Beautiful, too, beyond cavil, her position as the wife of one of themost brilliant cavaliers that e'er graced the entourage of Mme. dePompadour gave her a certain dignity of bearing, a self-conscious gaitand proud carriage of the head which had considerably added to thecharms which she already possessed. The stiff, ungainly mode of theperiod suited her somewhat full figure to perfection; the tightcorslet bodice, the wide panniers, the ridiculous hooped skirt--allseemed to have been specially designed to suit the voluptuous beautyof Irene de Stainville.

  M. d'Argenson when speaking of her has described her very fully. Hespeaks of her abnormally small waist, which seemed to challenge thesupport of a masculine arm, and of her creamy skin which she knew sowell how to veil in transparent folds of filmy lace. She made of dressa special study, and her taste, though daring, was always sure. Evenduring these early morning receptions, when soft-toned mauves, tenderdrabs or grays were mostly in evidence, Irene de Stainville usuallyappeared in brocade of brilliant rosy-red, turquoise blue, or emeraldgreen; she knew that these somewhat garish tones, mellowed onlythrough the richness of the material, set off to perfection the mattivory tint of her complexion, and detached her entire person from therest of the picture.

  Yet even her most ardent admirers tell us that Irene de Stainville'svanity went almost beyond the bounds of reason in its avidity forfulsome adulation. Consciousness of her own beauty was not sufficient;she desired its acknowledgment from others. She seemed to feed onflattery, breathing it in with every pore of her delicate skin,drooping like a parched flower when full measure was denied to her.Many aver that she marred her undoubted gifts of wit through thisinsatiable desire for one sole topic of conversation--her own beautyand its due meed of praise. At the same time her love of direct andobsequious compliments was so ingenuous, and she herself so undeniablyfascinating, that, in the hey-day of her youth and attractions, shehad no difficulty in obtaining ready response to her wishes from thehighly susceptible masculine element at the Court of Louis XV.

  M. le Controleur-General--whom she specially honoured with hersmiles--had certainly no intention of shirking the pleasing dutyattached to this distinction, and, though he was never counted abrilliant conversationalist, he never seemed at a loss for the exactword of praise which would tickle la belle Irene's ears mostpleasantly.

  And truly no man's heart could be sufficiently adamant to deny to thatbrilliantly-plumaged bird the tit-bits which it loved the best. Milorhimself had all the sensitiveness of his race where charms--such asIrene freely displayed before him--were concerned, and when hersmiling lips demanded acknowledgment of her beauty from him he wasready enough to give it.

  "Let them settle the grave affairs of State over there," she had saidto him this morning, when first she made her curtsey before him. Andwith a provocative smile she pointed to the serious-looking group ofgrave gentlemen that surrounded his bedside, and also to the compactrow of backs which stood in serried ranks round Mme. la Marquised'Eglinton in the embrasure of the central window. "Life is too shortfor such insignificant trifles."

  "We only seem to last long enough to make love thoroughly to half adozen pretty women in a lifetime," replied M. le Controleur, as hegallantly raised her fingers to his lips.

  "Half a dozen!" she retorted, with a pout. "Ah, milor, I see that yourcountrymen are not maligned! The English have such a reputation forperfidy!"

  "But I have become so entirely French!" he protested. "England wouldscarce know me now."

  And with a whimsical gesture he pointed to the satin hangings of hisbed, the rich point lace coverlet, and to his own very elaborate andelegant _robe de chambre_.

  "Is that
said in regret?" she asked.

  "Nay," he replied, "there is no more place for regret than there isfor boredom in sight of smiles from those perfect lips."

  She blushed, and allowed her hands--which were particularlybeautiful--to finger idly the silks and laces which were draped sotastefully about his person. As her eyes were downcast in dainty andbecoming confusion, she failed to notice that M. le Controleur wassomewhat absent-minded this morning, and that, had he dared, he wouldat this juncture undoubtedly have yawned. But of this she wasobviously unconscious, else she had not now murmured so persuasively.

  "Am I beautiful?"

  "What a question!" he replied.

  "The most beautiful woman here present?" she insisted.

  "Par ma foi!" he protested gaily. "Was ever married man put in soawkward a predicament?"

  "Married man? Bah!" and she shrugged her pretty shoulders.

  "I am a married man, fair lady, and the law forbids me to answer soprovoking a question."

  "This is cowardly evasion," she rejoined. "Mme. la Marquise, yourwife, only acknowledges one supremacy--that of the mind. She wouldscorn to be called the most beautiful woman in the room."

  "And M. le Comte de Stainville, your lord, would put a hole rightthrough my body were I now to speak the unvarnished truth."

  Irene apparently chose to interpret milor's equivocal speech in themanner most pleasing to her self-love. She looked over her shouldertoward the window embrasure. She saw that Mme. la Marquised'Eglinton's court was momentarily dismissed, and that M. le Ducd'Aumont had just joined his daughter. She also saw that Lydie lookedtroubled, and that she threw across the room a look of haughtyreproof.

  Nothing could have pleased Irene de Stainville more.

  Apart from the satisfaction which her own inordinate vanity felt atthe present moment by enchaining milor's attention and receiving hisundivided homage in full sight of the _elite_ of aristocraticVersailles, there was the additional pleasure of dealing a pin-prickor so to a woman who had once been her rival, and who was undoubtedlynow the most distinguished as she was the most adulated personality inFrance.

  Irene had never forgiven Lydie Gaston's defalcations on that memorablenight, when a humiliating exposure and subsequent scene led to thedisclosure of her own secret marriage, and thus put a momentary checkon her husband's ambitious schemes.

  From that check he had since then partially recovered. Mme. dePompadour's good graces which she never wholly withdrew from him hadgiven him a certain position of influence and power, from which hislack of wealth would otherwise have debarred him. But even with theuncertain and fickle Marquise's help Gaston de Stainville was far fromattaining a position such as his alliance with Lydie would literallyhave thrown into his lap, such, of course, as fell to the share of theamiable milor, who had succeeded in capturing the golden prey. Inthese days of petticoat government feminine protection was the chiefleverage for advancement; Irene, however, could do nothing for herhusband without outside help; conscious of her own powers offascination, she had cast about for the most likely prop on which shecould lean gracefully whilst helping Gaston to climb upward.

  The King himself was too deeply in the toils of his fair Jeanne tohave eyes for any one save for her. M. le Duc d'Aumont, Prime Ministerof France, was his daughter's slave; there remained M. leControleur-General himself--a figure-head as far as the affairs ofState were concerned, but wielding a great deal of personal powerthrough the vastness of his wealth which Lydie rather affected todespise.

  Irene, therefore--_faute de mieux_--turned her languishing eyes uponM. le Controleur. Her triumph was pleasing to herself, and might indue course prove useful to Gaston, if she succeeded presently incounterbalancing Lydie's domineering influence over milor. For themoment her vanity was agreeably soothed, although "la belle brune deBordeaux" herself was fully alive to the fact that, while herwhispered conversations at milor's _petits levers_, her sidelongglances and conscious blushes called forth enough mischievous oglingsand equivocal jests from the more frivolous section of societybutterflies, Lydie only viewed her and her machinations with cold andsomewhat humiliating indifference.

  "And," as M. d'Argenson very pertinently remarked that self-samemorning, "would any beautiful woman care to engage the attentions of aman unless she aroused at the same time the jealousy or at least theannoyance of a rival?"