Petticoat Rule

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE WEIGHT OF ETIQUETTE

  Perhaps certain characteristics which milor the Marquis of Eglintonhad inherited from his English grandfather caused him to assume a moreelaborate costume for his _petit lever_ than the rigid court etiquetteof the time had prescribed.

  According to every mandate of usage and fashion, when, at exactlyhalf-past ten o'clock, he had asked M. Achille so peremptorily for hisshoes and then sat on the edge of his bed, with legs dangling over itssides, he should have been attired in a flowered dressing gown over alace-ruffled _chemise de nuit_, and a high-peaked _bonnet-de-coton_with the regulation tassel should have taken the place of the stillabsent perruque.

  Then all the distinguished gentlemen who stood nearest to him wouldhave known what to do. They had all attended _petits levers_ of kings,courtisanes, and Ministers, ever since their rank and dignitiesentitled them so to do. Mme. la Comtesse de Stainville, for instance,would have stepped aside at this precise juncture with a deep curtseyand mayhap a giggle or a smirk--since she was privileged to befrivolous--whereupon M. Achille would with the proper decorum due toso solemn a function have handed M. le Controleur's day shirt to thevisitor of highest rank there present, who was privileged to pass itover milor's head.

  That important formality accomplished, the great man's toilet could becompleted by _M. le valet-de-chambre_ himself. But who had ever heardof a Minister's _petit-lever_ being brought to a close without theceremony of his being helped on with his shirt by a prince of theblood, or at least a marshal of France?

  However, _le petit Anglais_ had apparently some funny notions of hisown--heirlooms, no doubt, from that fog-ridden land beyond the seas,the home of his ancestors--and vainly had Monsieur Achille, thatparagon among flunkeys, tried to persuade his Marquis not to set thehitherto inviolate etiquette of the Court of France quite soflagrantly at defiance.

  All his efforts had been in vain.

  Monsieur d'Argenson, who was present on this 13th of August, 1746,tells us that when milor did call for his shoes at least ten minutestoo soon, and was thereupon tenderly reproached by Madame la Comtessede Stainville for this ungallant haste, he was already more than halfdressed.

  True, the flowered _robe-de-chambre_ was there--and vastly becoming,too, with its braided motifs and downy lining of a contrastinghue--but when milor threw off the coverlet with a boyish gesture ofimpatience, he appeared clad in a daintily frilled day-shirt, breechesof fine faced cloth, whilst a pair of white silk stockings covered hiswell-shaped calves.

  True, the perruque was still absent, but so was the regulation cottonnight-cap; instead of these, milor, with that eccentricity peculiar tothe entire British race, wore his own hair slightly powdered and tiedat the nape of the neck with a wide black silk bow.

  Monsieur Achille looked extremely perturbed, and, had his rigorousfeatures ventured to show any expression at all, they wouldundoubtedly have displayed one of respectful apology to all thehigh-born gentlemen who witnessed this unedifying spectacle. As itwas, the face of _Monsieur le valet-de-chambre_ was set in marble-likerigidity; perhaps only the slightest suspicion of a sigh escaped hislips as he noted milor's complete unconsciousness of the enormity ofhis offense.

  Monsieur le Controleur had been in the very midst of an animatedargument with Madame de Stainville anent the respective merits of rosered and turquoise blue as a foil to a mellow complexion. This argumenthe had broken off abruptly by calling for his shoes. No wonder Irenepouted, her pout being singularly becoming.

  "Had I been fortunate enough in pleasing your lordship with my poorwit," she said, "you had not been in so great a hurry to rid yourselfof my company."

  "Nay, madame, permit me to explain," he protested gently. "I pray youtry and remember that for the last half-hour I have been the happy yetfeeble target for the shafts aimed at me by your beauty and your wit.Now I always feel singularly helpless without my waistcoat and myshoes. I feel like a miserable combatant who, when brought face toface with a powerful enemy, hath been prevented from arming himselffor the fray."

  "But etiquette----" she protested.

  "Etiquette is a jade, madame," he retorted; "shall not you and I turnour backs on her?"

  In the meantime M. Achille had, with becoming reverence, taken M. leControleur's coat and waistcoat in his august hands, and stood thereholding them with just that awed expression of countenance which avillage cure would wear when handling a reliquary.

  With that same disregard for ceremony which had characterized him allalong, Lord Eglinton rescued his waistcoat from those insistent hands,and, heedless of Achille's look of horror, he slipped it on andbuttoned it himself with quick, dexterous fingers, as if he had neverdone anything else in all his life.

  For a moment Achille was speechless. For the first time perhaps in thehistory of France a Minister of Finance had put his waistcoat onhimself, and this under his--Achille's--administration. The veryfoundations of his belief were tottering before his eyes; desperatelynow he clung to the coat, ready to fight for its possession and shedhis blood if need be for the upkeep of the ancient traditions of theland.

  "Will milor take his coat from the hands of Monseigneur le Prince deCourtenai--prince of the blood?" he asked, with a final supreme effortfor the reestablishment of those traditions, which were being sowantonly flouted.

  "His Majesty will be here directly," interposed Irene hastily.

  "His Majesty never comes later than half-past ten," protested milorfeebly, "and he has not the vaguest idea how to help a man on with hiscoat. He has had no experience and I feel that mine would become aheap of crumpled misery if his gracious hands were to insinuate itover my unworthy shoulders."

  He made a desperate effort to gain possession of his coat, but thistime M. Achille was obdurate. It seemed as if he would not yield thatcoat to any one save at the cost of his own life.

  "Then it is the privilege of Monseigneur le Prince de Courtenai," hesaid firmly.

  "But M. de Courtenai has gone to flirt with my wife!" ejaculated LordEglinton in despair.

  "In that case no doubt M. le Duc de Luxembourg will claim theright----"

  "_Mais comment donc?_" said the Duke with great alacrity, as, in spiteof milor's still continued feeble protests, he took the coat from thehands of M. Achille.

  M. de Luxembourg was very pompous and very slow, and there was nothingthat Lord Eglinton hated worse than what he called amateur valeting.But now there was nothing for it but forbearance and resignation;patience, too, of which _le petit Anglais_ had no more than a justshare. He gathered the frills of his shirt sleeves in his hands andtried not to look as if he wished M. de Luxembourg at the bottom ofthe nearest pond; but at this very moment Monseigneur le Prince deCourtenai, who, it appeared, had not gone to flirt with Madame laMarquise, since the latter was very much engaged elsewhere, but hadmerely been absorbed in political discussions with M. de Vermandois,suddenly realized that one of his numerous privileges was beingencroached upon.

  Not that he had any special desire to help M. le Controleur-General onwith his coat, but because he was ever anxious that his properprecedence as quasi prince of the blood should always be fullyrecognized. So he gave a discreet cough just sufficiently loud toattract M. Achille's notice, and to warn M. le Duc de Luxembourg thathe was being presumptuous.

  Without another word the coat was transferred from the hands of theMarechal to those of the quasi-royal Prince, whilst Eglinton, wearingan air of resigned martyrdom, still waited for his coat, the frills ofhis shirt sleeves gripped tightly in his hands.

  Monseigneur advanced. His movements were always sedate, and he feltpleased that every one who stood close by had noticed that the rankand precedence, which were rightfully his, had been duly accorded him,even in so small a matter, by no less a personage than M. leControleur-General des Finances.

  He now held the coat in perfect position, and Lord Eglinton gave asigh of relief, when suddenly the great doors at the end of the longroom were thrown wide open, and the stentoria
n voices of the royalflunkeys announced:

  "Messieurs, Mesdames! His Majesty the King!"

  The buzz of talk died down, giving place to respectful murmurs. Therewas a great rustle of silks and brocades, a clink of dress swordsagainst the parquet floor, as the crowd parted to make way for LouisXV. The various groups of political disputants broke up, as ifscattered by a fairy wand; soon all the butterflies that had hoveredin the further corners of the room fluttered toward the magic centre.

  Here an avenue seemed suddenly to form itself of silken gowns, ofbrocaded panniers, of gaily embroidered coats, topped by rows ofpowdered perruques that bent very low to the ground as, fat, smiling,pompous, and not a little bored, His Majesty King Louis XV made slowprogress along the full length of the room, leaning lightly on thearm of the inevitable Marquise de Pompadour, and nodding with greatcondescension to the perruqued heads as he passed.

  Near the window embrasure he met la Marquise d'Eglinton and M. le Ducd'Aumont, her father. To Lydie he extended a gracious hand, andengaged her in conversation with a few trivial words. This gave Mme.de Pompadour the opportunity of darting a quick glance, that impliedan anxious query, at the Duc d'Aumont, to which he responded with analmost imperceptible shake of the head.

  All the while M. le Controleur-General des Finances was stillstanding, shirt frills in hand, his face a picture of resigneddespair, his eyes longingly fixed on his own coat, which Monseigneurde Courtenai no longer held up for him.

  Indeed, Monseigneur, a rigid stickler for etiquette himself, wouldnever so far have forgotten what was due to the house of Bourbon as toindulge in any pursuit--such as helping a Minister on with hiscoat--at the moment when His Majesty entered a room.

  He bowed with the rest of them, and thus Louis XV at the end of hisprogress, found the group around milor's bedside; his cousin deCourtenai bowing, Monsieur Achille with his nose almost touching hisknees, and milor Eglinton in shirt sleeves looking supremelyuncomfortable, and not a little sheepish.

  "Ah! ce cher milor!" said the King with charming bonhomie, as he tookthe situation in at a glance. "Nay, cousin, I claim an ancientprivilege! Monsieur le Controleur-General, have you ever been waitedon by a King of France?"

  "Never to my knowledge, Sire," stammered _le petit Anglais_.

  Louis XV was quite delightful to-day; so fresh and boyish in hismovements, and with an inimitable _laisser aller_ and friendliness inhis manner which caused many pairs of eyes to stare, and many heartsto ponder.

  "Let this be an epoch-making experience in your life, then," he saidgaily. "Is this your coat?"

  And without more ado he took that much-travelled garment fromMonseigneur de Courtenai's hands.

  Such condescension, such easy graciousness had not been witnessed foryears! And His Majesty was not overfond of that State-appointedMinistry of Finance of which milor was the nominal head.

  "His Majesty must be sorely in need of money!" was a whispered commentwhich ran freely enough round the room.

  Withal the King himself seemed quite unconscious of the wave ofinterest to which his gracious behaviour was giving rise. He washolding up the coat, smiling benevolently at M. le Controleur, whoappeared to be more than usually nervous, and now made no movementtoward that much-desired portion of his attire.

  "Allons, milor, I am waiting," said King Louis at last.

  "Er--that is," murmured Lord Eglinton pitiably, "could I have my coatright side out?"

  "_Ohe! par ma foi!_" quoth the King with easy familiarity, "yourpardon, milor, but 'tis seldom I hold such an article in my hands, andI believe, by all the saints in the calendar, that I was holding itupside down, wrong side out, sleeves foremost, and collar awry!"

  He laughed till his fat sides ached, and tears streamed from his eyes;then, amidst discreet murmurs of admiration at so much condescension,such gracious good humour, the ceremony of putting on M. leControleur's coat was at last performed by the King of France, andmilor, now fully clothed and apparently much relieved in his mind, wasable to present his respects to Madame de Pompadour.