CHAPTER XXV
THE FIRST DOUBT
His Majesty certainly looked far less bored than he usually did on hisroyal consort's reception evenings. He entered the room with agood-natured smile on his face, which did not leave him, even whilsthe kissed the frigid Queen's hand, and nodded to her entourage, everyone of whom he cordially detested.
But when he caught sight of Lydie, he positively beamed at her, andastonished all the scandal-mongers by the surfeit of attentions whichhe bestowed on her. Directly after he had paid his respects to hiswife and received the young scions of ancient aristocratic houses,that were being presented to him, he turned with great alacrity toLydie and engaged her in close conversation.
"Will you honour us by stepping the pavane with us, Marquise?" heasked in sugary tones. "Alas! our dancing days should be over, yet parma foi! we could yet tread another measure beside the tiniest feet inFrance."
Lydie would perhaps have been taken aback at the King's superlativeamiability, but instinctively her mind reverted to the many occasionswhen he had thus tried to win her good graces, in the hope ofobtaining concessions of money from the virtual chief of theDepartment of Finance. She saw that inquisitive eyes were watching herover-keenly as--unable to refuse the King's invitation--she placed areluctant hand in his, and took her position beside him for theopening of the pavane.
She was essentially graceful even in the studied stiffness of hermovements; a stiffness which she had practised and then made entirelyher own, and which was somehow expressive of the unbendable hauteur ofher moral character.
The stately pavane suited the movements of her willowy figure, whichappeared quite untrammelled, easy and full of spring, even within thenarrow confines of the fashionable corslet. She was dressed in whiteto-night and her young shoulders looked dazzling and creamy beside thematt tone of her brocaded gown. She never allowed the ridiculouscoiffure, which had lately become the mode, to hide entirely the gloryof her own chestnut hair, and its rich, warm colour gleamed throughthe powder, scantily sprinkled over it by an artist's hand.
She had not forgotten even for a moment the serious events of thisnever-to-be-forgotten day; but amongst the many memories which crowdedin upon her, as, with slow step she trod the grave measure of thedance, none was more vivid than that of her husband's scorn, when hespoke of her own hand resting in that of the treacherous andperfidious monarch, who would have sold his friend for money. Shewondered how he would act if he could see her now, her fingers, veryfrequently meeting those of King Louis during the elaborate figures ofthe dance.
Strangely enough, although everything milor had said to her at thatinterview had merely jarred upon her mood and irritated her nerves,without seemingly carrying any conviction, yet now, when she wasobliged to touch so often the moist, hot palm of King Louis, she feltsomething of that intolerable physical repugnance which her husbandhad, as it were, brought to actuality by the vigour of hissuggestions.
Otherwise she took little heed of her surroundings. During thepreliminary movement of the dance, the march past, with its quaint,artificial gestures and steps and the slow majesty of its music, shecould not help seeing the looks of malevolent curiosity, of satisfiedchildish envy, and of sarcastic triumph which were levelled at herfrom every corner of the room.
The special distinction bestowed on her by the King--who as a rulenever danced at his wife's soirees--seemed in the minds of all thesegossip-lovers to have confirmed the worst rumours, anent the cause ofLord Eglinton's unexpected resignation. His Majesty did not sufferlike his wife from an unconquerable horror of frisky matrons; on thecontrary, his abhorrence was chiefly directed against the starchydowagers and the prudish _devotes_ who formed the entourage of theQueen. The fact that he distinguished Lydie to-night so openly, showedthat he no longer classed her among the latter.
"His Majesty hath at last found a kindred spirit in the unapproachableMarchioness," was the universal comment, which thoroughly satisfiedthe most virulent disseminator of ill-natured scandal.
Lydie knew enough of Court life to guess what would be said. Up to nowshe had been happily free from Louis's compromising flatteries, saveat such times when he required money, but his attentions went nofurther--and they invariably ceased the moment he had obtained allthat he wanted. But to-night he was unswerving in his adulation; and,in the brief pause between the second and third movement of the dance,he contrived to whisper in her ear:
"Ah, Madame! how you shame your King! Shall we ever be able toadequately express the full measure of our gratitude?"
"Gratitude, Sire?" she murmured, somewhat bewildered and rathercoldly, "I do not understand . . . why gratitude?"
"You are modest, Madame, as well as brave and good," he rejoined,taking one more opportunity of raising her hand to his lips. He hadsucceeded in gradually leading her into a window embrasure, somewhataway from the rest of the dancers. He did not admire the statuesquegrace of Lydie in the least, and had always secretly sneered at her,for her masculine strength of will and the rigidity of her principles,but it had been impossible for any man, alive to a sense of what wasbeautiful, not to delight in the exquisitely harmonious picture formedby that elegant woman, in her stiff, white brocaded gown and with heryoung head crowned by its wreath of ardent hair, standing outbrilliantly against the pale, buttercup colour of the damask curtainbehind her. There was nothing forced therefore in the look ofadmiration with which the King now regarded Lydie; conscious of this,she deeply resented the look, and perhaps because of it, she was notquite so fully alive to the hidden meaning of his words as sheotherwise might have been.
"And as beautiful as you are brave," added Louis unctuously. "It isnot every woman who would thus have had the courage of herconvictions, and so openly borne witness to the trust and loyaltywhich she felt."
"Indeed, Sire," she said coldly and suddenly beginning to feel vaguelypuzzled, "I am afraid your Majesty is labouring under themisapprehension, that I have recently done something to deservespecial royal thanks, whereas----"
"Whereas you have only followed the dictates of your heart," herejoined gallantly, seeing that she had paused as if in search of aword, "and shown to the sceptics in this ill-natured Court that,beneath the rigid mask of iron determination, this exquisitelybeautiful personality hid the true instincts of adorable womanhood."
The musicians now struck the opening chords to the third and finalmeasure of the pavane. There is something dreamy and almost sad inthis movement of the stately dance, and this melancholy is speciallyaccentuated in the composition of Rameau, which the players wererendering with consummate art to-night. The King's unctuous words werestill ringing unpleasantly in Lydie's ears, when he put out his hand,claiming hers for the dance.
Mechanically she followed him, her feet treading the measure quiteindependently of her mind, which had gone wandering in the land ofdreams. A vague sense of uneasiness crept slowly but surely into herheart, she pondered over Louis's words, not knowing what to make ofthem, yet somehow beginning to fear them, or rather to fear that shemight after all succeed in understanding their full meaning. She couldnot dismiss the certitude from her mind that he was, in some hiddensense, referring to the Stuart prince and his cause, when he spoke of"convictions" and of her "courage"; but at first she only thought thathe meant, in a vague way, to recall her interference of this morning,Lord Eglinton's outburst of contempt, and her own promise to give thematter serious consideration.
This in a measure re-assured her. The King's words had already becomehazy in her memory, as she had not paid serious attention to them atthe time, and she gradually forced those vague fears within her tosubside, and even smiled at her own cowardice in scenting danger wherenone existed.
Undoubtedly that was the true reason of the rapacious monarch'sflatteries to-night; truth to tell, her mind had been so absorbed withactual events, her quarrel with her husband, the departure of Gaston,the proposed expedition of _Le Monarque_, that she had almostforgotten the promise which she had made to the King earlier in thed
ay, with a view to gaining time.
"How admirably you dance, Madame," said King Louis, "the poetry ofmotion by all the saints! Ah! believe me, I cannot conquer altogethera feeling of unutterable envy!"
"Envy, Sire, of whom?--or of what?" she asked, forced to keep up aconversation which sickened her, since etiquette did not allow her toremain silent if the King desired to talk. "Methinks fate leaves yourMajesty but little to wish for."
"Envy of the lucky man who obtained a certitude, whilst we had to becontent with vague if gracious promises," he rejoined blandly.
She looked at him keenly, inquiringly, a deep line of doubt, even offear now settling between her brows.
"Certitude of what, Sire?" she asked suddenly pausing in the dance andturning to look him straight in the eyes. "I humbly crave yourMajesty's pardon, but meseems that we are at cross-purposes, and thatyour Majesty speaks of something which I, on the other hand, do notunderstand."
"Nay! nay! then we'll not refer to the subject again," rejoined Louiswith consummate gallantry, "for of a truth we would not wish to loseone precious moment of this heavenly dance. Enough that youunderstand, Madame, that your King is grateful, and will show hisgratitude, even though his heart burn with jealousy at the goodfortune of another man!"
There was no mistaking the sly leer which appeared in his eye as hespoke. Lydie felt her cheeks flaming up with sudden wrath; wrath,which as quickly gave way to an awful, an unconquerable horror.
Still she did not suspect. Her feet once more trod the monotonousmeasure, but her heart beat wildly against the stiff corslet; the roombegan to whirl round before her eyes; a sickening sense of dizzinessthreatened to master her. Every drop of blood had left her cheeks,leaving them ashen pale.
She was afraid; and the fear was all the more terrible as she couldnot yet give it a name. But the sense of an awful catastrophe was uponher, impending, not yet materialized, but which would overwhelm herinevitably when it came.
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