Le collier de la reine. English Page 5

  CHAPTER III.

  JEANNE DE LA MOTTE VALOIS.

  The first thought of Jeanne de la Motte was to examine the faces of hervisitors, so as to gather what she could of their characters. The elderlady, who might have been, as we have said, about thirty-two years ofage, was remarkably beautiful, although, at first sight, a great air ofhauteur detracted slightly from the charm of her expression; hercarriage was so proud, and her whole appearance so distingue that Jeannecould not doubt her nobility, even at a cursory glance.

  She, however, seemed purposely to place herself as far as possible fromthe light, so as to be little seen.

  Her companion appeared four or five years younger, and was not lessbeautiful. Her complexion was charming; her hair, drawn back from hertemples, showed to advantage the perfect oval of her face; two largeblue eyes, calm and serene; a well-formed mouth, indicating greatfrankness of disposition; a nose that rivaled the Venus de Medicis; suchwas the other face which presented itself to the gaze of Jeanne deValois.

  She inquired gently to what happy circumstance she owed the honor oftheir visit.

  The elder lady signed to the younger, who thereupon said, "Madame, for Ibelieve you are married----"

  "I have the honor to be the wife of M. le Comte de la Motte, anexcellent gentleman."

  "Well, Madame la Comtesse, we are at the head of a charitableinstitution, and have heard concerning your condition things thatinterest us, and we consequently wished to have more precise details onthe subject."

  "Mesdames," replied Jeanne, "you see there the portrait of Henry III.,that is to say, of the brother of my grandfather, for I am truly of therace of Valois, as you have doubtless been told." And she waited for thenext question, looking at her visitors with a sort of proud humility.

  "Madame," said the grave and sweet voice of the elder lady, "is it true,as we have also heard, that your mother was housekeeper at a placecalled Fontelle, near Bar-sur-Seine?"

  Jeanne colored at this question, but replied, "It is true, madame; and,"she went on, "as Marie Jossel, my mother, was possessed of rare beauty,my father fell in love with her, and married her, for it is by my fatherthat I am nobly descended; he was a St. Remy de Valois, directdescendant of the Valois who were on the throne."

  "But how have you been reduced to this degree of poverty, madame?"

  "Alas! that is easily told. You are not ignorant that after theaccession of Henry IV., by which the crown passed from the house ofValois to that of Bourbon, there still remained many branches of thefallen family, obscure, doubtless, but incontestably springing from thesame root as the four brothers who all perished so miserably."

  The two ladies made a sign of assent.

  "Then," continued Jeanne, "these remnants of the Valois, fearing, inspite of their obscurity, to be obnoxious to the reigning family,changed their name of Valois into that of St. Remy, which they took fromsome property, and they may be traced under this name down to my father,who, seeing the monarchy so firmly established, and the old branchforgotten, thought he need no longer deprive himself of his illustriousname, and again called himself Valois, which name he bore in poverty andobscurity in a distant province, while no one at the court of Franceeven knew of the existence of this descendant of their ancient kings."

  Jeanne stopped at these words, which she had spoken with a simplicityand mildness which created a favorable impression.

  "You have, doubtless, your proofs already arranged, madame," said theelder lady, with kindness.

  "Oh, madame," she replied, with a bitter smile, "proofs are notwanting--my father arranged them, and left them to me as his solelegacy; but of what use are proofs of a truth which no one willrecognize?"

  "Your father is then dead?" asked the younger lady.

  "Alas! yes."

  "Did he die in the provinces?"

  "No, madame."

  "At Paris, then?"

  "Yes."

  "In this room?"

  "No, madame; my father, Baron de Valois, great-nephew of the King HenryIII., died of misery and hunger; and not even in this poor retreat, notin his own bed, poor as that was. No; my father died side by side withthe suffering wretches in the Hotel Dieu!"

  The ladies uttered an exclamation of surprise and distress.

  "From what you tell me, madame, you have experienced, it is evident,great misfortunes; above all, the death of your father."

  "Oh, if you heard all the story of my life, madame, you would see thatmy father's death does not rank among its greatest misfortunes."

  "How, madame! You regard as a minor evil the death of your father?" saidthe elder lady, with a frown.

  "Yes, madame; and in so doing I speak only as a pious daughter, for myfather was thereby delivered from all the ills which he experienced inthis life, and which continue to assail his family. I experience, in themidst of the grief which his death causes me, a certain joy in knowingthat the descendant of kings is no longer obliged to beg his bread."

  "To beg his bread?"

  "Yes, madame; I say it without shame, for in all our misfortunes therewas no blame to my father or myself."

  "But you do not speak of your mother?"

  "Well, with the same frankness with which I told you just now that Iblessed God for taking my father, I complain that He left me my mother."

  The two ladies looked at each other, almost shuddering at these strangewords.

  "Would it be indiscreet, madame, to ask you for a more detailed accountof your misfortunes?"

  "The indiscretion, madame, would be in me, if I fatigued you with such along catalogue of woes."

  "Speak, madame," said the elder lady, so commandingly, that hercompanion looked at her, as if to warn her to be more guarded. Indeed,Madame de la Motte had been struck with this imperious accent, andstared at her with some astonishment.

  "I listen, madame," she then said, in a more gentle tone; "if you willbe good enough to inform us what we ask."

  Her companion saw her shiver as she spoke, and fearing she felt cold,pushed towards her a rug, on which to place her feet, and which she haddiscovered under one of the chairs.

  "Keep it yourself, my sister," said she, pushing it back again. "You aremore delicate than I."

  "Indeed, madame," said Jeanne, "it grieves me much to see you sufferfrom the cold; but wood is now so dear, and my stock was exhausted aweek ago."

  "You said, madame, that you were unhappy in having a mother," said theelder lady, returning to the subject.

  "Yes, madame. Doubtless, such a blasphemy shocks you much, does it not?"said Jeanne; "but hear my explanation. I have already had the honor totell you that my father made a mesalliance, and married his housekeeper.Marie Jossel, my mother, instead of feeling gratified and proud of thehonor he had done her, began by ruining my father, which certainly wasnot difficult to a person determined to consult only her own pleasures.And having reduced him to sell all his remaining property, she inducedhim to go to Paris to claim the rights to which his name entitled him.My father was easily persuaded; perhaps he hoped in the justice of theking. He came then, having first turned all he possessed into money. Hehad, besides me, another daughter, and a son.

  "His son, unhappy as myself, vegetates in the lowest ranks of the army;the daughter, my poor sister, was abandoned, on the evening of ourdeparture, before the house of a neighboring farmer.

  "The journey exhausted our little resources--my father wore himself outin fruitless appeals--we scarcely ever saw him--our house waswretched--and my mother, to whom a victim was necessary, vented herdiscontent and ill-humor upon me: she even reproached me with what Iate, and for the slightest fault I was unmercifully beaten. Theneighbors, thinking to serve me, told my father of the treatment Iexperienced. He endeavored to protect me, but his interference onlyserved to embitter her still more against me.

  "At last my father fell ill, and was confined first to the house, andthen to his bed. My mother banished me from his room on the pretext thatI disturbed him. She made me now learn a sentence, which, child a
s Iwas, I shrank from saying; but she would drive me out into the streetwith blows, ordering me to repeat it to each passer-by, if I did notwish to be beaten to death."

  "And what was this sentence?" asked the elder lady.

  "It was this, madame: 'Have pity on a little orphan, who descends in adirect line from Henri de Valois.'"

  "What a shame!" cried the ladies.

  "But what effect did this produce on the people?" inquired Andree.

  "Some listened and pitied me, others were angry and menaced me; somekind people stopped and warned me that I ran a great risk from repeatingsuch words; but I knew no other danger than that of disobeying mymother. The result was, however, as she hoped: I generally brought homea little money, which kept us for a time from starvation or thehospital; but this life became so odious to me, that at last, one day,instead of repeating my accustomed phrase, I sat on a doorstep all thetime, and returned in the evening empty-handed. My mother beat me sothat the next day I fell ill; then my poor father, deprived of allresources, was obliged to go to the Hotel Dieu, where he died."

  "Oh! what a horrible history," cried the ladies.

  "What became of you after your father's death?" asked the elder lady.

  "God took pity upon me a month after my father's death, my mother ranaway with a soldier, abandoning my brother and me. We felt ourselvesrelieved by her departure, and lived on public charity, although wenever begged for more than enough to eat. One day, I saw a carriagegoing slowly along the Faubourg Saint Marcel. There were four footmenbehind, and a beautiful lady inside; I held out my hand to her forcharity. She questioned me, and my reply and my name seemed to strikeher with surprise. She asked for my address, and the next day madeinquiries, and finding that I had told her the truth, she took chargeof my brother and myself; she placed my brother in the army, and me witha dressmaker."

  "Was not this lady Madame de Boulainvilliers?"

  "It was."

  "She is dead, I believe?"

  "Yes; and her death deprived me of my only protector."

  "Her husband still lives, and is rich."

  "Ah, madame, it is to him that I owe my later misfortunes. I had growntall, and, as he thought, pretty, and he wished to put a price upon hisbenefits which I refused to pay. Meanwhile, Madame de Boulainvilliersdied, having first married me to a brave and loyal soldier, M. de laMotte, but, separated from him, I seemed more abandoned after her deaththan I had been after that of my father. This is my history, madame,which I have shortened as much as possible, in order not to weary you."

  "Where, then, is your husband?" asked the elder lady.

  "He is in garrison at Bar-sur-Aube; he serves in the gendarmerie, and iswaiting, like myself, in hopes of better times."

  "But you have laid your case before the court?"

  "Undoubtedly."

  "The name of Valois must have awakened some sympathy."

  "I know not, madame, what sentiments it may have awakened, for I havereceived no answer to any of my petitions."

  "You have seen neither the ministers, the king, nor the queen?"

  "No one. Everywhere I have failed."

  "You cannot now beg, however."

  "No, madame; I have lost the habit; but I can die of hunger, like mypoor father."

  "You have no child?"

  "No, madame; and my husband, by getting killed in the service of hisking, will find for himself a glorious end to all our miseries."

  "Can you, madame--I beg pardon if I seem intrusive--but can you bringforward the proofs of your genealogy?"

  Jeanne rose, opened a drawer, and drew out some papers, which shepresented to the lady, who rose to come nearer the light, that she mightexamine them; but seeing that Jeanne eagerly seized this opportunity toobserve her more clearly than she had yet been able to do, she turnedaway as if the light hurt her eyes, turning her back to Madame de laMotte.

  "But," said she, at last, "these are only copies."

  "Oh! madame, I have the originals safe, and am ready to produce them."

  "If any important occasion should present itself, I suppose?" said thelady, smiling.

  "It is, doubtless, madame, an important occasion which procures me thehonor of your visit, but these papers are so precious----"

  "That you cannot show them to the first comer. I understand you."

  "Oh, madame!" cried the countess; "you shall see them;" and opening asecret drawer above the other, she drew out the originals, which werecarefully inclosed in an old portfolio, on which were the arms of theValois.

  The lady took them, and after examining them, said, "You are right;these are perfectly satisfactory, and you must hold yourself inreadiness to produce them when called upon by proper authority."

  "And what do you think I may expect, madame?" asked Jeanne.

  "Doubtless a pension for yourself, and advancement for M. de la Motte,if he prove worthy of it."

  "My husband is an honorable man, madame, and has never failed in hismilitary duties."

  "It is enough, madame," said the lady, drawing her hood still more overher face. She then put her hand in her pocket, and drew out first thesame embroidered handkerchief with which we before saw her hiding herface when in the sledge, then a small roll about an inch in diameter,and three or four in length, which she placed on the chiffonier, saying,"The treasurer of our charity authorizes me, madame, to offer you thissmall assistance, until you shall obtain something better."

  Madame de la Motte threw a rapid glance at the little roll. "Three-francpieces," thought she, "and there must be nearly a hundred of them; whata boon from heaven."

  While she was thus thinking, the two ladies moved quickly into the outerroom, where Clotilde had fallen asleep in her chair.

  The candle was burning out in the socket, and the smell which came fromit made the ladies draw out their smelling-bottles. Jeanne wokeClotilde, who insisted on following them with the obnoxious candle-end.

  "Au revoir, Madame la Comtesse," said they.

  "Where may I have the honor of coming to thank you?" asked Jeanne.

  "We will let you know," replied the elder lady, going quickly down thestairs.

  Madame de la Motte ran back into her room, impatient to examine herrouleau, but her foot struck against something, and stooping to pick itup, she saw a small flat gold box.

  She was some time before she could open it, but having at last found thespring, it flew open and disclosed the portrait of a lady possessing nosmall beauty. The coiffure was German, and she wore a collar like anorder. An M and a T encircled by a laurel wreath ornamented the insideof the box. Madame de la Motte did not doubt, from the resemblance ofthe portrait to the lady who had just left her, that it was that of hermother, or some near relation.

  She ran to the stairs to give it back to them; but hearing thestreet-door shut, she ran back, thinking to call them from the window,but arrived there only in time to see a cabriolet driving rapidly away.She was therefore obliged to keep the box for the present, and turnedagain to the little rouleau.

  When she opened it, she uttered a cry of joy, "Double louis, fiftydouble louis, two thousand and four hundred francs!" and transported atthe sight of more gold than she had ever seen before in her life, sheremained with clasped hands and open lips. "A hundred louis," sherepeated; "these ladies are then very rich. Oh! I will find them again."