"And would it be indiscreet to ask you the name of this powerful protector?"
"Oh! mon Dieu! no! it is that gentleman there," said Montalais, pointing to Malicorne, who, during this scene, had preserved the most imperturbable coolness, and the most comic dignity.
"Monsieur!" cried Madame de SaintRemy, with an explosion of hilarity, "monsieur is your protector! Is the man whose credit is so powerful, and whose promises are as good as deeds, Monsieur Malicorne!"
Malicorne bowed.
As to Montalais, as her sole reply, she drew the brevet from her pocket, and showed it to the old lady.
"Here is the brevet," said she.
At once all was over. As soon as she had cast a rapid glance over this fortunate brevet, the good lady clasped her hands, an unspeakable expression of envy and despair contracted her countenance, and she was obliged to sit down to avoid fainting. Montalais was not malicious enough to rejoice extravagantly at her victory, or to overwhelm the conquered enemy, particularly when that enemy was the mother of her friend; she used then, but did not abuse her triumph. Malicorne was less generous; he assumed noble poses in his fauteuil and stretched himself out with a familiarity which, two hours earlier, would have drawn upon him threats of a caning.
"Maid of honor to the young madame!" repeated Madame de SaintRemy, still but half convinced.
"Yes, madame, and through the protection of M. Malicorne, moreover."
"It is incredible!" repeated the old lady: "is it not incredible, Louise?" But Louise did not reply; she was sitting, thoughtfully, almost sad; passing one had over her beautiful brow, she sighed heavily.
"Well, but, monsieur," said Madame de SaintRemy, all at once, "how did you manage to obtain this post?"
"I asked for it, madame."
"Of whom?"
"One of my friends."
"And you have friends sufficiently powerful at court to give you such proofs of their credit?"
"It appears so."
"And may one ask the name of these friends?"
"I did not say I had many friends, madame, I said I had one friend."
"And that friend is called?"
"Peste! madame, you go too far! When one has a friend as powerful as mine, we do not publish his name in that fashion, in open day, in order that he may be stolen from us."
"You are right, monsieur, to be silent as to that name; for I think it would be pretty difficult for you to tell it."
"At all events," said Montalais, "if the friend does not exist, the brevet does, and that cuts short the question."
"Then, I conceive," said Madame de SaintRemy, with the gracious smile of the cat who is going to scratch, "when I found monsieur here just now"
"Well?"
"He brought you the brevet."
"Exactly, madame; you have guessed rightly."
"Well, then, nothing can be more moral or proper."
"I think so, madame."
"And I have been wrong, as it appears, in reproaching you, mademoiselle."
"Very wrong, madame; but I am so accustomed to your reproaches, that I pardon you these."
"In that case, let us begone, Louise; we have nothing to do but retire. Well!"
"Madame!" said La Valliere starting, "did you speak?"
"You do not appear to be listening, my child."
"No, madame, I was thinking."
"About what?"
"A thousand things."
"You bear me no illwill, at least, Louise?" cried Montalais, pressing her hand.
"And why should I, my dear Aure?" replied the girl in a voice soft as a flute.
"Dame!" resumed Madame de SaintRemy; "if she did bear you a little illwill, poor girl, she could not be much blamed."
"And why should she bear me illwill, good gracious?"
"It appears to me that she is of as good a family, and as pretty as you."
"Mother! mother!" cried Louise.
"Prettier a hundred times, madamenot of a better family; but that does not tell me why Louise should bear me illwill."
"Do you think it will be very amusing for her to be buried alive at Blois, when you are going to shine at Paris?"
"But, madame, it is not I who prevent Louise following me thither; on the contrary, I should certainly be most happy if she came there."
"But it appears that M. Malicorne, who is allpowerful at court"
"Ah! so much the worse, madame," said Malicorne, "every one for himself in this poor world."
"Malicorne! Malicorne!" said Montalais. Then stooping towards the young man:
"Occupy Madame de SaintRemy, either in disputing with her, or making it up with her; I must speak to Louise." And, at the same time, a soft pressure of the hand recompensed Malicorne for his future obedience. Malicorne went grumbling towards Madame de SaintRemy, whilst Montalais said to her friend, throwing one arm around her neck:
"What is the matter? Tell me. Is it true that you would not love me if I were to shine, as your mother says?"
"Oh, no!" said the young girl, with difficulty restraining her tears; "on the contrary, I rejoice at your good fortune."
"Rejoice! why, one would say you are ready to cry!"
"Do people never weep except from envy?"
"Oh! yes, I understand; I am going to Paris and that word Paris recalls to your mind a certain cavalier"
"Aure!"
"A certain cavalier who formerly lived near Blois, and who now resides at Paris."
"In truth, I know not what ails me, but I feel stifled."
"Weep, then, weep, as you cannot give me a smile!"
Louise raised her sweet face, which the tears, rolling down one after the other, illumined like diamonds.
"Come, confess," said Montalais.
"What shall I confess?"
"What makes you weep; people don't weep without cause. I am your friend; whatever you would wish me to do, I will do. Malicorne is more powerful than you would think. Do you wish to go to Paris?"
"Alas!" sighed Louise.
"Do you wish to come to Paris?"
"To remain here alone, in this old castle, I who have enjoyed the delightful habit of listening to your songs, of pressing your hand, of running about the park with you. Oh! how I shall be ennuyee! how quickly I shall die!"
"Alas!" sighed Louise.
"Do you wish to come to Paris?"
"To remain here alone, in this old castle, I who have enjoyed the delightful habit of listening to your songs, of pressing your hand, of running about the park with you. Oh! how I shall be ennuyee! how quickly I shall die!"
"Do you wish to come to Paris?"
Louise breathed another sigh.
"You do not answer me."
"What would you that I should reply?"
"Yes or no; that is not very difficult, I think."
"Oh! you are very fortunate, Montalais!"
"That is to say you would like to be in my place."
Louise was silent.
"Little obstinate thing!" said Montalais; "did ever any one keep her secrets from her friend thus? But, confess that you would like to come to Paris; confess that you are dying with the wish to see Raoul again."
"I cannot confess that."
"Then you are wrong."
"In what way?"
"Becausedo you not see this brevet?"
"To be sure I do."
"Well, I would have got you a similar one."
"By whose means?"
"Malicorne's."
"Aure, are you telling the truth? Is that possible?"
"Malicorne is there; and what he has done for me, he surely can do for you."
Malicorne had heard his name pronounced twice; he was delighted at having an opportunity of coming to a conclusion with Madame de SaintRemy, and he turned round:
"What is the question, mademoiselle?"
"Come hither, Malicorne," said Montalais, with an imperious gesture. Malicorne obeyed.
"A brevet like this," said Montalais.
"How so?"
"A brevet like this; that is plain enough."
"But"
"I want oneI must have one!"
"Oh! oh! you must have one!"
"Yes."
"It is impossible, is it not, M. Malicorne?" said Louise, with her sweet, soft voice.
"If it is for you, mademoiselle"
"For me. Yes, Monsieur Malicorne, it would be for me."
"And if Mademoiselle de Montalais asks it at the same time"
"Mademoiselle de Montalais does not ask it, she requires it."
"Well! we will endeavor to obey you, mademoiselle."
"And you will have her named?"
"We will try."
"No evasive answers, Louise de la Valliere shall be maid of honor to Madame Henrietta within a week."
"How you talk!"
"Within a week, or else"
"Well! or else?"
"You may take back your brevet, Monsieur Malicorne; I will not leave my friend."
"Dear Montalais!"
"That is right. Keep your brevet; Mademoiselle de la Valliere shall be a maid of honor."
"Is that true?"
"Quite true."
"I may then hope to go to Paris?"
"Depend on it."
"Oh! Monsieur Malicorne, what joy!" cried Louise, clapping her hands, and bounding with pleasure.
"Little dissembler!" said Montalais, "try again to make me believe you are not in love with Raoul."
Louise blushed like a rose in June, but instead of replying, she ran and embraced her mother. "Madame," said she, "do you know that M. Malicorne is going to have me appointed maid of honor?"
"M. Malicorne is a prince in disguise," replied the old lady, "he is allpowerful, seemingly."
"Should you also like to be a maid of honor?" asked Malicorne of Madame de SaintRemy. "Whilst I am about it, I might as well get everybody appointed."
And upon that he went away, leaving the poor lady quite disconcerted.
"Humph!" murmured Malicorne as he descended the stairs,"Humph! there goes another note of a thousand livres! but I must get through as well as I can; my friend Manicamp does nothing for nothing."
Chapter IV.
Malicorne and Manicamp.
The introduction of these two new personages into this history and that mysterious affinity of names and sentiments, merit some attention on the part of both historian and reader. We will then enter into some details concerning Messieurs Malicorne and Manicamp. Malicorne, we know, had made the journey to Orleans in search of the brevet destined for Mademoiselle de Montalais, the arrival of which had produced such a strong feeling at the castle of Blois. At that moment, M. de Manicamp was at Orleans. A singular person was this M. de Manicamp; a very intelligent young fellow, always poor, always needy, although he dipped his hand freely into the purse of M. le Comte de Guiche, one of the best furnished purses of the period. M. le Comte de Guiche had had, as the companion of his boyhood, this De Manicamp, a poor gentleman, vassalborn, of the house of Gramont. M. de Manicamp, with his tact and talent had created himself a revenue in the opulent family of the celebrated marechal. From his infancy he had, with calculation beyond his age, lent his mane and complaisance to the follies of the Comte de Guiche. If his noble companion had stolen some fruit destined for Madame la Marechale, if he had broken a mirror, or put out a dog's eye, Manicamp declared himself guilty of the crime committed, and received the punishment, which was not made the milder for falling on the innocent. But this was the way this system of abnegation was paid for: instead of wearing such mean habiliments as his paternal fortunes entitled him to, he was able to appear brilliant, superb, like a young noble of fifty thousand livres a year. It was not that he was mean in character or humble in spirit; no, he was a philosopher, or rather he had the indifference, the apathy, the obstinacy which banish from man every sentiment of the supernatural. His sole ambition was to spend money. But, in this respect, the worthy M. de Manicamp was a gulf. Three or four times every year he drained the Comte de Guiche, and when the Comte de Guiche was thoroughly drained, when he had turned out his pockets and his purse before him, when he declared that it would be at least a fortnight before paternal munificence would refill those pockets and that purse, Manicamp lost all his energy, he went to bed, remained there, ate nothing and sold his handsome clothes, under the pretense that, remaining in bed, he did not want them. During this prostration of mind and strength, the purse of the Comte de Guiche was getting full again, and when once filled, overflowed into that of De Manicamp, who bought new clothes, dressed himself again, and recommenced the same life he had followed before. The mania of selling his new clothes for a quarter of what they were worth, had rendered our hero sufficiently celebrated in Orleans, a city where, in general, we should be puzzled to say why he came to pass his days of penitence. Provincial debauches, petitsmaitres of six hundred livres a year, shared the fragments of his opulence.