Petticoat Rule

  CHAPTER IV

  A WOMAN'S SURRENDER

  In a small alcove, which was raised above the level of the rest of thefloor by a couple of steps and divided from the main banqueting hallby a heavy damask curtain now partially drawn aside, Mlle. d'Aumontsat in close conversation with M. le Comte de Stainville.

  From this secluded spot these two dominated the entire length andbreadth of the room; the dazzling scene was displayed before them in agorgeous kaleidoscope of moving figures, in an ever-developingpanorama of vividly coloured groups, that came and went, divided andreunited; now forming soft harmonies of delicate tones that suggestedthe subtle blending on the palette of a master, anon throwing on tothe canvas daring patches of rich magentas or deep purples, that setoff with cunning artfulness the masses of pale primrose and gold.

  Gaston de Stainville, however, did not seem impressed with thepicturesqueness of the scene. He sat with his broad back turned towardthe brilliant company, one elbow propped on a small table beside him,his hand shielding his face against the glare of the candles. ButLydie d'Aumont's searching eyes roamed ceaselessly over the gailyplumaged birds that fluttered uninterruptedly before her gaze.

  With one delicate hand holding back the rich damask curtain, the otherlying idly in her lap, her white brocaded gown standing out in stifffolds round her girlish figure, she was a picture well worth lookingat.

  Lydie was scarcely twenty-one then, but already there was a certainsomething in the poise of her head, in every movement of her gracefulbody, that suggested the woman accustomed to dominate, the woman ofthought and action, rather than of sentiment and tender emotions.

  Those of her own sex said at that time that in Lydie's haughty eyesthere was the look of the girl who has been deprived early in life ofa mother's gentle influence, and who has never felt the gentle yetfirm curb of a mother's authority on her childish whims and caprices.

  M. le Duc d'Aumont, who had lost his young wife after five years of anexceptionally happy married life, had lavished all the affection ofhis mature years on the girl, who was the sole representative of hisname. The child had always been headstrong and self-willed from thecradle; her nurses could not cope with her babyish tempers; hergovernesses dreaded her domineering ways. M. le Duc was deaf to allcomplaints; he would not have the child thwarted, and as she grew uplovable in the main, she found her father's subordinates ready enoughto bend to her yoke.

  From the age of ten she had been the acknowledged queen of all herplaymates, and the autocrat of her father's house. Little by littleshe obtained an extraordinary ascendancy over the fond parent, whoadmired almost as much as he loved her.

  He was deeply touched when, scarce out of the school room, she triedto help him in the composition of his letters, and more thanastonished to see how quick was her intelligence and how sharp herintuition. Instinctively, at first he took to explaining to her thevarious political questions of the day, listening with paternalgood-humour, to her acute and sensitive remarks on several importantquestions.

  Then gradually his confidence in her widened. Many chroniclers averthat it was Lydie d'Aumont who wrote her father's celebrated memoirs,and those who at that time had the privilege of knowing her intimatelycould easily trace her influence in most of her father's politicalmoves. There is no doubt that the Duc himself, when he finally becamePrime Minister of France, did very little without consulting hisdaughter, and even l'Abbe d'Alivet, in his "Chroniques de Louis XV,"admits that the hot partisanship of France for the Young Pretender'sill-conceived expeditions was mainly due to Mlle. d'Aumont'sinfluence.

  When Vanloo painted her a little later on, he rendered with consummateand delicate skill the haughty look of command which many of Lydie'smost ardent admirers felt to be a blemish on the exquisite purity andcharm of her face.

  The artist, too, emphasized the depth and earnestness of her darkeyes, and that somewhat too severe and self-reliant expression whichmarked the straight young brow.

  Perhaps it was this same masterful trait in the dainty form before himthat Gaston de Stainville studied so attentively just now; there hadbeen silence for some time between the elegant cavalier and theidolized daughter of the Prime Minister of France. She seemed restlessand anxious, even absent-minded, when he spoke. She was studying thevarious groups of men and women as they passed, frowning when shelooked on some faces, smiling abstractedly when she encountered a pairof friendly eyes.

  "I did not know that you were such a partisan of that youngadventurer," said Gaston de Stainville at last, as if in answer to herthoughts, noting that her gaze now rested with stern intentness onCharles Edward Stuart.

  "I must be on the side of a just cause," she rejoined quietly, as witha very characteristic movement of hers she turned her head slowlyround and looked M. de Stainville full in the face.

  She could not see him very well, for his head was silhouetted againstthe dazzling light beyond, and she frowned a little as she tried todistinguish his features more clearly in the shadow.

  "You do believe, Gaston, that his cause is just?" she asked earnestly.

  "Oh!" he replied lightly; "I'll believe in the justice of any cause towhich you give your support."

  She shrugged her shoulders, whilst a slightly contemptuous curlappeared at the corner of her mouth.

  "How like a man!" she said impatiently.

  "What is like a man?" he retorted. "To love--as I love you?"

  He had whispered this, hardly above his breath lest he should beoverheard by some one in that gay and giddy throng who passedlaughingly by. The stern expression in her eyes softened a little asthey met his eager gaze, but the good-humoured contempt was stillapparent, even in her smile; she saw that as he spoke he lookedthrough the outspread fingers of his hand to see if he was beingwatched, and noted that one pair of eyes, distant the whole length ofthe room, caught the movement, then was instantly averted.

  "Mlle. de Saint Romans is watching you," she said quietly.

  He seemed surprised and not a little vexed that she had noticed, andfor a moment looked confused; then he said carelessly:

  "Why should she not? Why should not the whole world look on, and seethat I adore you?"

  "Meseems you protest over-much, Gaston," she said, with a sigh.

  "Impossible!"

  "You talk of love too lightly."

  "I am in earnest, Lydie. Why should you doubt? Are you not beautifulenough to satisfy any man's ardour?"

  "Am I not influential enough, you mean," she said, with a slighttremor in her rich young voice, "to satisfy any man's ambition?"

  "Is ambition a crime in your eyes, Lydie?"

  "No; but----"

  "I am ambitious; you cannot condemn me for that," he said, nowspeaking in more impressive tone. "When we were playmates together,years ago, you remember? in the gardens at Cluny, if other lads werethere, was I not always eager to be first in the race, first in thefield--first always, everywhere?"

  "Even at the cost of sorrow and humiliation to the weaker ones."

  He shrugged his shoulders with easy unconcern.

  "There is no success in life for the strong," he said, "save at thecost of sorrow and humiliation for the weak. Lydie," he added moreearnestly, "if I am ambitious it is because my love for you has mademe humble. I do not feel that as I am, I am worthy of you; I want tobe rich, to be influential, to be great. Is that wrong? I want yourpride in me, almost as much as your love."

  "You were rich once, Gaston," she said, a little coldly. "Your fatherwas rich."

  "Is it my fault if I am poor now?"

  "They tell me it is; they say that you are over-fond of cards, and ofother pleasures which are less avowable."

  "And you believe them?"

  "I hardly know," she whispered.

  "You have ceased to love me, then?"

  "Gaston!"

  There as a tone of tender reproach there, which the young man wasswift enough to note; the beautiful face before him was in full light;he could see well that a rosy blush had chased away t
he usual mattpallor of her cheeks, and that the full red lips trembled a littlenow, whilst the severe expression of the eyes was veiled in delicatemoisture.

  "Your face has betrayed you, Lydie!" he said, with sudden vehemence,though his voice even now hardly rose above a whisper. "If you havenot forgotten your promises made to me at Cluny--in the shadow ofthose beech trees, do you remember? You were only thirteen--a merechild--yet already a woman, the soft breath of spring fanned yourglowing cheeks, your loose hair blew about your face, framing yourproud little head in a halo of gold--you remember, Lydie?"

  "I have not forgotten," she said gently.

  "Your hand was in mine--a child's hand, Lydie, but yours for allthat--and you promised--you remember? And if you have notforgotten--if you do love me, not, Heaven help me! as I love you, butonly just a little better than any one else in the world; well, then,Lydie, why these bickerings, why these reproaches? I am poor now, butsoon I will be rich! I have no power, but soon I will rule France,with you to help me if you will!"

  He had grown more and more vehement as he spoke, carried along by thetorrent of his own eloquence. But he had not moved; he still sat withhis back to the company, and his face shaded by his hand; his voicewas still low, impressive in its ardour. Then, as the young girl'sgraceful head drooped beneath the passionate expression of his gaze,bending, as it were, to the intensity of his earnest will, his eyesflashed a look of triumph, a premonition of victory close at hand.Lydie's strong personality was momentarily weakened by the fatigue ofa long and arduous evening, by the heavy atmosphere of the room; hersenses were dulled by the penetrating odours of wine and perfumeswhich fought with those of cosmetics.

  She seemed to be yielding to the softer emotions, less watchful of herown dignity, less jealous of her own power. The young man felt that atthis moment he held her just as he wished; did he stretch out his handshe would place hers in it. The recollections of her childhood hadsmothered all thoughts of present conflicts and of politicalintrigues. Mlle. d'Aumont, the influential daughter of an all-powerfulMinister, had momentarily disappeared, giving way to madcap littleLydie, with short skirts and flying chestnut curls, the comrade of thehandsome boy in the old gardens at Cluny.

  "Lydie, if you loved me!" whispered Stainville.

  "If I loved you!" and there was a world of pathos in that girlish"if."

  "You would help me instead of reproaching."

  "What do you want me to do, Gaston?"

  "Your word is law with your father," he said persuasively. "He deniesyou nothing. You said I was ambitious; one word from you--this newMinistry----"

  He realized his danger, bit his lip lest he had been too precipitate.Lydie was headstrong, she was also very shrewd; the master-mind thatguided the destinies of France through the weak indulgence of a fatherwas not likely to be caught in a snare like any love-sick maid. Herwoman's instinct--he knew that--was keen to detect self-interest; andif he aroused the suspicions of the wealthy and influential womanbefore he had wholly subjugated her heart, he knew that he would losethe biggest stake of his life.

  Lately she had held aloof from him, the playmates had become somewhatestranged; the echoes of his reckless life must, he thought, havereached her ears, and he himself had not been over-eager for thecompanionship of this woman, who seemed to have thrown off all thelight-heartedness of her sex for the sake of a life of activity anddomination.

  She was known to be cold and unapproachable, rigidly conscientious intransacting the business of the State, which her father with easycarelessness gradually left on her young shoulders, since she seemedto find pleasure in it.

  But her influence, of which she was fully conscious, had rendered hersuspicious. Even now, when the call of her youth, of her beauty, ofthe happy and tender recollections of her childhood loudly demandedto be heard, she cast a swift, inquiring glance at Gaston.

  He caught the glance, and, with an involuntary movement of impatience,his hand, which up to now had so carefully masked the expression ofhis face, came crashing down upon the table.

  "Lydie," he said impetuously, "in the name of God throw aside yourarmour for one moment! Is life so long that you can afford to wasteit? Have you learned the secret of perpetual youth that youdeliberately fritter away its golden moments in order to rush afterthe Dead Sea fruit of domination and power? Lydie!" he whispered withpassionate tenderness; "my little Lydie of the crisp chestnut hair, ofthe fragrant woods around Cluny, leave those giddy heights ofambition; come down to earth, where my arms await you! I will tell youof things, my little Lydie, which are far more beautiful, far moredesirable, than the sceptre and kingdom of France; and when I pressyou close to my heart you will taste a joy far sweeter than that whicha crown of glory can give. Will you not listen to me, Lydie? Will younot share with me that joy which renders men the equal of God?"

  His hand had wandered up the damask curtain, gently drawing its heavyfolds from out her clinging fingers. The rich brocade fell behind himwith a soft and lingering sound like the murmured "Hush--sh--sh!" ofangels' wings shutting out the noise and glare beyond, isolating themboth from the world and its conflicts, its passions, and its ceaselessstrife.

  Secure from prying eyes, Gaston de Stainville threw all reserve fromhim with a laugh of pride and of joy. Half kneeling, wholly leaningtoward her, his arms encircled her young figure, almost pathetic nowin its sudden and complete abandonment. With his right hand he drewthat imperious little head down until his lips had reached her ear.

  "Would you have me otherwise, my beautiful proud queen?" he whisperedsoftly. "Should I be worthy of the cleverest woman in France if myambition and hopes were not at least as great as hers? Lydie," headded, looking straight into her eyes, "if you asked me for a kingdomin the moon, I swear to God that I would make a start in order toconquer it for you! Did you, from sheer caprice, ask to see my life'sblood ebbing out of my body, I would thrust this dagger withouthesitation into my heart."

  "Hush! hush!" she said earnestly; "that is extravagant talk, Gaston.Do not desecrate love by such folly."

  "'Tis not folly, Lydie. Give me your lips and you, too, willunderstand."

  She closed her eyes. It was so strange to feel this great gladness inher heart, this abasement of all her being; she, who had so loved todictate and to rule, she savoured the inexpressible delight ofyielding.

  He demanded a kiss and she gave it because he had asked it of her,shyly wondering in her own mind how she came to submit so easily, andwhy submission should be so sweet.

  Up to now she had only tasted the delights of power; now she felt thatif Gaston willed she would deem it joy to obey. There was infinitehappiness, infinite peace in that kiss, the first her vestal lips hadever granted to any man. He was again whispering to her now with thatsame eager impetuosity which had subjugated her. She was glad tolisten, for he talked much of his love, of the beautiful days atCluny, which she had feared that he had wholly forgotten.

  It was sweet to think that he remembered them. During the past year ortwo when evil tongues spoke of him before her, of his recklessness,his dissipations, his servility to the growing influence of thePompadour, she had not altogether believed, but her heart, faithful tothe child-lover, had ached and rebelled against his growing neglect.

  Now he was whispering explanations--not excuses, for he needed none,since he had always loved her and only jealousies and intrigues hadkept him from her side. As he protested, she still did not altogetherbelieve--oh, the folly of it all! the mad, glad folly!--but he saidthat with a kiss she would understand.

  He was right. She did understand.

  And he talked much of his ambitions. Was it not natural? Men were sodifferent to women! He, proud of his love for her, was longing to showher his power, to rule and to command; she, half-shy of her love forhim, felt her pride in submitting to his wish, in laying down at hisfeet the crown and sceptre of domination which she had wielded up tonow with so proud and secure a hand.

  Men were so different. That, too, she understood with the first touchof
a man's kiss on her lips.

  She chided herself for her mistrust of him; was it not natural that heshould wish to rule? How proud was she now that her last act ofabsolute power should be the satisfaction of his desire.

  That new Ministry? Well, he should have it as he wished. One word fromher, and her father would grant it. Her husband must be the mostpowerful man in France; she would make him that, since she could: andthen pillow her head on his breast and forget that she ever had otherambitions save to see him great.

  Smiling through her tears, she begged his forgiveness for her mistrustof him, her doubts of the true worth of his love.

  "It was because I knew so little," she said shyly as her tremblingfingers toyed nervously with the lace of his cravat; "no man has everloved me, Gaston--you understand? There were flatterers round me andsycophants--but love----"

  She shook her head with a kind of joyous sadness for the past. It wasso much better to be totally ignorant of love, and then to learnit--like this!

  Then she became grave again.

  "My father shall arrange everything this evening," she said, with aproud toss of her head. "To-morrow you may command, but to-night youshall remain a suppliant; grant me, I pray you, this fond littlegratification of my overburdened vanity. Ask me again to grant yourrequest, to be the means of satisfying your ambition. Put it intowords, Gaston, tell me what it is you want!" she insisted, with apretty touch of obstinacy; "it is my whim, and remember I am still thearbiter of your fate."

  "On my knees, my queen," he said, curbing his impatience at herchildish caprice; and, striving to hide the note of triumph in hisvoice, he put both knees to the ground and bent his head insupplication. "I crave of your bountiful graciousness to accord me thepower to rule France by virtue of my office as Chief Comptroller ofher revenues."

  "Your desire is granted, sir," she said with a final assumption ofpride; "the last favour I shall have the power to bestow I now conferon you. To-morrow I abdicate," she continued, with a strange littlesigh, half-tearful, half-joyous, "to-morrow I shall own a master. M.le Comte de Stainville, Minister of the Exchequer of France, beholdyour slave, Lydie, bought this night with the priceless currency ofyour love! Oh, Gaston, my lord, my husband!" she said, with a suddenuncontrollable outburst of tears, "be a kind master to your slave--shegives up so much for your dear sake!"