The Mesmerist's Victim

“Why do you say you are not pleased?”

“I never said so.”

“You ask comments on the King’s good pleasure – plague on the dunce who questions it!”

“Again, I tell you, I never opened my mouth on that subject. It is certain that I am pleased.”

“Yes, you – for any man of sense would be: but your girl?”

“Humph!”

“My dear fellow, you have brought up the child like the savage that you are.”

“My dear fellow, she has brought herself up all alone; you might guess that I did not bother myself about her. It was hard enough to keep alive in that hole at Taverney. Virtue sprang up in her of its own impulsion.”

“Yet I thought that the rural swains rooted out ill weeds. In short, your girl is a nun.”

“You are wrong – she is a dove.”

Richelieu made a sour face.

“The dove had better get another turtle to mate, for the chances to make a fortune with that blessing are pretty scarce nowadays.”

Taverney looked at him uneasily.

“Luckily,” went on the other, “the King is so infatuated with Dubarry that he will never seriously lean towards others.”

Taverney’s disquiet became anxiety.

“You and your daughter need not worry,” continued Richelieu. “I will raise the proper objections to the King and he will think no more about it.”

“About what?” gasped the old noble, pale, as he shook his friend’s arm.

“About making a little present to Mdlle. Andrea.”

“A little present – what is it?” cried the baron full of hope and greediness.

“A mere trifle,” said Richelieu, negligently, as he opened the parcel and showed a diamond collar. “A miserable little trinket costing only a few thousand livres, which his Majesty, flattered by having heard his favorite song sung well, wanted the singer to be sued to accept. It is the custom. But let us say no more since your daughter is so easily frightened.”

“But you do not seem to see that a refusal would offend the King.”

“Of course; but does not virtue always tread on the corn of somebody or other?”

“To tell the truth, duke, the girl is not so very lost to reason. I know what she will say or do.”

“The Chinese are a very happy people,” observed Richelieu.

“How so?” asked Taverney, stupefied.

“Because they are allowed to drown girls who are a trouble to their parents and nobody says a word.”

“Come, duke, you ought to be fair,” said Taverney; “suppose you had a daughter.”

“‘Sdeath! have I not a daughter, and it would be mighty unkind of anybody to slander her by saying she was ice. But I never interfere with my children after they get out of the nursery.”

“But if you had a daughter and the King were to offer her a collar?”

“My friend, pray, no comparisons. I have always lived in the court and you have lived latterly like a Red Indian; there is no likeness. What you call virtue I rate as stupidity. Learn for your guidance that nothing is more impolite than to put it to people what they would do in such a case. Besides, your comparison will not suit. I am not the bearer of a diamond collar to Mdlle. de Taverney, as Lebel the valet of the King is a carrier; when I have such a mission, which is honorable as the present is rich, I am moral as the next man. I do not go near the young lady, who is admirable for her virtue – I go to her father – I speak to you, Taverney, and I hand you the collar, saying: Take it or leave it.”

“If the present is only a matter of custom,” observed the baron: “if legitimate and paternal – ”

“Why, you are never daring to suspect his Majesty of evil intentions,” said Richelieu, gravely.

“God forbid, but what will the world say – I mean, my daughter – ”

“Yes or no, do you take it,” demanded the intermediary, shrugging his shoulders.

Out darted Taverney’s fingers, as he said with a smile twin-like to the envoy’s:

“Thus you are moral.”

“Is it not pure morality,” returned the marshal, “to place the father, who purifies all, between the enchanted state of the monarch and the charm of your daughter? Let Jean Jacques Rousseau, who was in these precincts a while ago, be the judge: he will declare that the famous Joseph of Biblical name was impure alongside of me.”

He uttered these words with a phlegm, dry nobility, and perkiness imposing silence on Taverney’s observations, and helping him to believe that he ought to dwell convinced. So he grasped his illustrious friend’s hand and as he squeezed it, he said:

“Thanks to your delicacy, my daughter may accept this present.”

“The source and origin of the fortune of which I was speaking to you at the commencement of our annoying discussion on virtue.”

“I thank you with all my heart, duke.”

“One word: most carefully keep the news of this boon from the Dubarry’s friends. She is capable of quitting the King and running away.”

“Would the King be sorry for that?”

“I do not know, but the countess would bear you ill-will. I would be lost, in that case; so be wary.”

“Fear nothing: but bear my most humble thanks to his Majesty.”

“And your daughter’s – I shall not fail. But you are not at the end of the favor. You can thank him personally, dear friend, for you are invited to sup with him. We are a family party. We – his Majesty, you, and I, will talk about your daughter’s virtue. Good bye, Taverney! I see Dubarry with Aiguillon and they must not spy us in conversation.”

Light as a page, he skipped out of the gallery, leaving the old baron with the jewels, like a child waking up and finding what Santa Claus left in his sock while he slept.

CHAPTER XXI

THE KING’S PRIVATE SUPPER-PARTY

THE marshal found his royal master in the little parlor, whither a few courtiers had followed him, preferring to lose their meal than have his glances fall on somebody else.