Petticoat Rule

  CHAPTER VI

  A FALSE POSITION

  "Gaston!"

  M. de Stainville shook off his moodiness. The vision of la belle Irenestanding there in the satin-hung boudoir, the soft glow of well-shadedcandles shedding an elusive, rosy light on the exquisite figure, withhead thrown back and arms stretched out in a gesture of passionateappeal, was too captivating to permit of any other thought having swayover his brain, for the next second or two at any rate.

  "I thought you had completely forgotten me to-night," she said as hecame rapidly toward her, "and that I should not even get speech ofyou."

  She took his hand and led him gently to a low divan; forcing him tosit down beside her, she studied his face intently for a moment ortwo.

  "Was it necessary?" she asked abruptly.

  "You know it was, Irene," he said, divining her thoughts, plungingreadily enough now into the discussion which he knew was inevitable.His whole nature rebelled against this situation; he felt a distinctlowering of his manly pride; his masterful spirit chafed at thethought of an explanation which Irene claimed the right to demand.

  "I told you, Irene," he continued impatiently, "that I would speak toMlle. d'Aumont to-night, and if possible obtain a definite promisefrom her."

  "And have you obtained that definite promise?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "Lydie d'Aumont promised you that you should be the newState-appointed Minister of Finance?" she insisted.

  "Yes! I have her word."

  "And--what was the cost?"

  "The cost?"

  "Yes, the cost," she said, with what was obviously enforced calm."Lydie d'Aumont did not give you that promise for nothing; you gaveher or promised her something in return. What was it?"

  Her lips were trembling, and she had some difficulty in preventing hernervous fingers from breaking into pieces the delicate mother-of-pearlfan which they held. But she was determined to appear perfectly calm,and that he should in no way suspect her of working up to a vulgarscene of jealousy.

  "You are foolish, Irene!" he said, with his characteristic nonchalantshrug of the shoulders.

  "Foolish?" she repeated, still keeping her temper well under control,though it was her voice which was shaking now. "Foolish? Ma foi! whenmy husband obtains----"

  "'Sh! 'sh! 'sh!" he said quickly, as with rough gesture he grasped herwrist, and gave it a warning pressure.

  "Bah!" she retorted; "no one can hear."

  "The walls have ears!"

  "And if they have? I cannot keep up this deception for ever, Gaston."

  "'Twere worse than foolish to founder within sight of port."

  "You trust Lydie d'Aumont's word then?"

  "If you will do nothing to spoil the situation!" he retorted grimly."Another word such as you said just now, too long a prolongation ofthis charming _tete-a-tete_, and Mlle. d'Aumont will make a freshpromise to some one else."

  "I was right, then?"

  "Right in what?"

  "Mlle. d'Aumont promised you the appointment because you made love toher."

  "Irene!"

  "Why don't you tell me?" she said with passionate vehemence. "Can'tyou see that I have been torturing myself with jealous fears? I amjealous--can I help it? I suffered martyrdom when I saw you there withher! I could not hear your words, but I could see the earnestness ofyour attitude. Do I not know every line of your figure, every gestureof your hand? Then the curtain fell at your touch, and I could nolonger see--only divine--only tremble and fear. Mon Dieu! did I notlove you as I do, were my love merely foolish passion, would I notthen have screamed out the truth to all that jabbering crowd thatstood between me and you, seeming to mock me with its prattle, and itsirresponsible laughter? I am unnerved, Gaston," she added, with asudden breakdown of her self-control, her voice trembling with sobs,the tears welling to her eyes, and her hands beating against oneanother with a movement of petulant nervosity. "I could bear it, youknow, but for this secrecy, this false position; it is humiliating tome, and--Oh, be kind to me--be kind to me!" she sobbed, giving finallyway to a fit of weeping. "I have spent such a miserable evening, allalone."

  Stainville's expressive lips curled into a smile. "Be kind tome!"--the same pathetic prayer spoken to him by Lydie a very shortwhile ago. Bah! how little women understood ambition! Even Lydie! EvenIrene!

  And these two women were nothing to him. Lydie herself was only astepping-stone; the statuesque and headstrong girl made no appeal tothe essentially masculine side of his nature, and he had little loveleft now for the beautiful passionate woman beside him, whom in amoment of unreasoning impulse he had bound irrevocably to him.

  Gaston de Stainville aspired to military honours a couple of yearsago; the Marechal de Saint Romans, friend and mentor of the Dauphin,confidant of the Queen, seemed all-powerful then. Unable to win thefather's consent to his union with Irene--for the Marechal had moreambitious views for his only daughter and looked with ill-favour onthe young gallant who had little to offer but his own handsome person,an ancient name, and a passionate desire for advancement--Gaston, whohad succeeded in enchaining the young girl's affections, had nodifficulty in persuading her to agree to a secret marriage.

  But the wheel of fate proved as erratic in its movements as theflights of Stainville's ambition. With the appearance of JeannePoisson d'Etioles at the Court of Versailles, the Queen's gentleinfluence over Louis XV waned, and her friends fell into disfavour andobscurity. The Marechal de Saint Romans was given an unimportantcommand in Flanders; there was nothing to be gained for the momentfrom an open alliance with his daughter. Gaston de Stainville, anavowed opportunist, paid his court to the newly risen star and wasreceived with smiles, but he could not shake himself from thematrimonial fetters which he himself had forged.

  The rapid rise of the Duc d'Aumont to power and the overwhelmingascendancy of Lydie in the affairs of State had made the young manchafe bitterly against the indestructible barrier which he himself haderected between his desires and their fulfilment. His passion forIrene did not yield to the early love of his childhood's days; it wasdrowned in the newly risen flood of more boundless ambition. It wasmerely the casting aside of one stepping-stone for another more firmand more prominent.

  Just now in the secluded alcove, when the proud, reserved girl hadlaid bare before him the secrets of her virginal soul, when withpathetic abandonment she laid the sceptre of her influence and powerat his feet, he had felt neither compunction nor remorse; now, whenthe woman who had trusted and blindly obeyed him asked for his helpand support in a moral crisis, he was conscious only of a sense ofirritation and even of contempt, which he tried vainly to disguise.

  At the same time he knew well that it is never wise to tax a woman'ssubmission too heavily. Irene had yielded to his wish that theirmarriage be kept a secret for the present only because she, too, wastainted with a touch of that unscrupulous ambition which was the chiefcharacteristic of the epoch. She was shrewd enough to know that herhusband would have but little chance in elbowing his way up the ladderof power--"each rung of which was wrapped in a petticoat," as M. deVoltaire had pertinently put it--if he was known to be dragging a wifeat his heels; Gaston had had no difficulty in making her understandthat his personality as a gay and irresponsible butterfly, as a manof fashion, and a squire of dames, was the most important factor inthe coming fight for the virtual dominion of France.

  She had accepted the position at first with an easy grace; she knewher Gaston, and knew that he must not be handled with too tight acurb; moreover, her secret status pleased her, whilst he remainedavowedly faithful to her she liked to see him court and smile, a_preux chevalier_ with the ladies; she relished the thought of beingthe jailer to that gaily-plumaged bird, whom bright eyes and smilinglips tried to entice and enchain.

  But to-night a crisis had come; something in Gaston's attitude towardLydie had irritated her beyond what she was prepared to endure. Hislove for her had begun to wane long ago; she knew that, but she wasnot inclined to see it bestowed on anothe
r. Stainville feared that shewas losing self-control, and that she might betray all and lose all ifhe did not succeed in laying her jealous wrath to rest. He was pastmaster in the art of dealing with a woman's tears.

  "Irene," he said earnestly, "I have far too much respect for you tolook upon this childish outburst of tears as representing the truestate of your feelings. You are unnerved--you own it yourself. Willyou allow me to hold your hand?" he said with abrupt transition.

  Then as she yielded her trembling hand to him he pressed a lingeringkiss in the icy cold palm.

  "Will you not accept with this kiss the assurance of my unswervingfaith and loyalty?" he said, speaking in that low, deep-toned voice ofhis which he knew so well how to make tender and appealing to theheart of women. "Irene, if I have committed an indiscretion to-night,if I allowed my ambition to soar beyond the bounds of prudence, willyou not believe that with my ambition my thoughts flew up to you andonly came down to earth in order to rest at your feet?"

  He had drawn her close to him, ready to whisper in her ear, as he hadwhispered half an hour ago in those of Lydie. He wanted this woman'strust and confidence just a very little while longer, and he foundwords readily enough with which to hoodwink and to cajole. Irene wasan easier prey than Lydie. She was his wife and her ambitions werebound up with his; her mistrust only came from jealousy, and jealousyin a woman is so easily conquered momentarily, if she be beautiful andyoung and the man ardent and unscrupulous.

  Gaston as yet had no difficult task; but every day would increasethose difficulties, until he had finally grasped the aim of hisambitious desires and had rid himself of Lydie.

  "Irene!" he whispered now, for he felt that she was consoled, andbeing consoled, she was ready to yield. "Irene, my wife, a little morepatience, a little more trust. Two days--a week--what matter? Shutyour eyes to all save this one moment to-night, when your husband isat your feet and when his soul goes out to yours in one long, andtender kiss. Your lips, ma mie!"

  She bent her head to him. Womanlike, she could not resist. Memory cameto his aid as he pleaded, the memory of those early days on thevine-clad hills near Bordeaux, when he had wooed and won her with thesavour of his kiss.