Apparently there was to be no end to royal graciousness this morning, as every one who looked could see. Hardly was the coat on M. le Contrôleur's shoulders than the King engaged him in conversation, whilst Mme. de Pompadour dropped into the armchair lately vacated by Monseigneur de Courtenai. The well-drilled circle of courtiers and ladies, including la belle Irène herself, retired discreetly. Once more there was a barrier of emptiness and parquet flooring round the inner group, now composed of His Majesty, of M. le Contrôleur-Général, and of Mme. de Pompadour. Into these sacred precincts no one would have dared to step. Lydie, having paid her respects to His Majesty, had not joined that intimate circle, and it seemed as if Louis XV had noted her absence, and was duly relieved thereat.
Anon M. le Duc d'Aumont approached the King, offering him a chair. Louis took it, and in the act of so doing he contrived to whisper four quick words in his Prime Minister's ear.
"Eh bien! Your daughter?"
Lord Eglinton just then was busy trying to find a suitable place whereon to deposit his own insignificant person, and blushing violently because Mme. de Pompadour had laughingly waved her fan in the direction of his monumental bed; M. le Duc, therefore, whilst adjusting a cushion behind the King's back, was able to reply hurriedly:
"Impossible, Sire!"
"And l'Anglais?"
"I have not yet tried."
"Ah! ah! ah!" laughed Pompadour merrily. "M. le Contrôleur-Général des Finances, are all Englishmen as modest as you?"
"I—I don't know, Madame. I don't know very many," he replied.
"Here is M. le Contrôleur too bashful to sit on the edge of his own bed in my presence," she continued, still laughing. "Nay, milor, I'll wager that you were reclining on those downy cushions when you were flirting with Mme. de Stainville."
"Only under the compulsion of my valet-de-chambre, Madame," he protested, "or I'd have got up hours ago."
"Is he such a tyrant, then?" asked Louis.
"Terrible, your Majesty."
"You are afraid of him?"
"I tremble at his look."
"Ah! it is well M. le Contrôleur-Général des Finances should tremble sometimes, even if only before his valet-de-chambre," sighed Louis XV with comic pathos.
"But, Sire, I tremble very often!" protested Lord Eglinton.
"I' faith he speaks truly," laughed Mme. de Pompadour, "since he trembles before his wife."
"And we tremble before M. le Contrôleur," concluded the King gaily.
"Before me, Sire?"
"Aye, indeed, since our Parliaments have made you our dragon."
"A good-tempered, meek sort of dragon, Sire, you'll graciously admit."
"That we will, milor, and gladly!" said Louis XV, now with somewhat too exuberant good-humour; "and you'll not have cause to regret that meekness, for your King hath remained your friend."
Then, as Lord Eglinton seemed either too much overcome by the amazing condescension, or too bashful to respond, his Majesty continued more sedately:
"We are about to prove our friendship, milor."
"Your Majesty—finds me—er—quite unprepared—er——" stammered milor, who in verity appeared distinctly confused, for his eyes roamed round the room as if in search of help or support in this interesting crisis.
"Nay! nay!" rejoined the King benignly, "this we understand, milor. It is not often the King of France chooses a friend amongst his subjects. For we look upon you as our subject now, M. le Contrôleur, since we have accepted your oath of allegiance. You have only just enough English blood left in your veins to make you doubly loyal and true to your King. Nay! nay! no thanks—we speak as our royal heart moves us. Just now we spoke of proofs of our friendship. Milor, tell us frankly, are you so very rich?"
The question came so abruptly at the end of the sentimental peroration that Lord Eglinton was completely thrown off his balance. He was not used to private and intimate conversations with King Louis; his wife saw to all affairs of State, and the present emergency found him unprepared.
"I—I believe so, Sire," he stammered.
"But surely not so rich," insisted the King, "that a million or so livres would come amiss? Hé!"?
"I don't rightly know, Sire; it a little depends."
"On what?"
"On the provenance of the million."
"More than one, good milor—two, mayhap," said the King exultantly.
Then he drew his chair in somewhat closer. Lord Eglinton had taken Mme. de Pompadour's advice and was sitting on the edge of the bed. We may presume that that edge was very hard and uncomfortable, for milor fidgeted and looked supremely unhappy. Anon the King's knees were close to his own, and Madame's brocaded skirt got entangled with his feet. The buzz of talk in the large room drowned the King's whispers effectually, the wide barrier of empty floor was an effectual check on eavesdropping. Obviously no one would hear what Louis was about to confide to his Minister; he leaned forward and dropped his voice so that Eglinton himself could scarcely hear, and had to bend his head so that he got Louis's hot, excited breath full on the cheek. Being General Comptroller of Finance and receiving the confidences of a King had its drawbacks at times.
"Milor," whispered his Majesty, "'tis a good affair we would propose, one which we could carry through without your help, but in which we would wish to initiate you, seeing that you are our friend."
"I listen, Sire."
"The Duke of Cumberland—you know him?"
"Yes."
"He has quelled the rebellion and humbled the standard of that arrogant Stuart Pretender."
"Your Majesty's friend—yes," said Eglinton innocently.
"Bah! our friend!" and Louis XV shrugged his shoulders, whilst Mme. de Pompadour gave a short contemptuous laugh.
"Oh! I am sorry! I thought——" said milor gently. "I pray your Majesty to continue."
"Charles Edward Stuart was no friend to us, milor," resumed Louis decisively: "observe, I pray you, the trouble which he hath brought about our ears. We had had peace with England ere now, but for that accursed adventurer and his pretensions; and now that he has come to disaster and ruin——"
"I understand," said Eglinton, with a little sigh of sympathy. "It is indeed awkward for your Majesty; the solemn promise you gave him——"
"Bah, man! prate not to me of promises," interrupted Louis irritably. "I promised him nothing; he knows that well enough—the young fool!"
"Do not let us think of him, Sire; it seems to upset your Majesty."
"It does, milor, it does; for even my worst enemies concede that Louis the Well-beloved is a creature of sympathy."
"A heart of gold, Sire—a heart of gold—er—shall we join the ladies?"
"Milor," said the King abruptly, putting a firm hand on Eglinton's wrist, "we must not allow that young fool to thwart the external politics of France any longer. The Duke of Cumberland, though our own enemy on the field of battle, has shown that England trusts in our honour and loyalty even in the midst of war, but she wants a proof from us."
"Oh, let us give it, Sire, by all means. Prince Charles Edward Stuart——"
"Exactly, milor," said Louis XV quietly; "that is the proof which England wants."
"I am afraid I don't quite understand," said Lord Eglinton, a little bewildered. "You see, I am very stupid; and—and perhaps my wife——"
Then, as King Louis gave a sharp ejaculation of impatience, Mme. de Pompadour broke in, in tones which she knew how to render velvety and soothing to the ear, whilst her delicate fingers rested lightly on M. le Contrôleur's hand.
"It is quite simple, milor," she whispered just as confidentially as the King had done. "This Charles Edward Stuart is a perpetual worry to England. His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland has been accused of unnecessary cruelty because he has been forced to take severe measures for the suppression of that spirit of rebellion, which is only being fostered in Scotland because of that young Pretender's perpetual presence there. He fans smouldering revolt into flame, he incites passions, and creates misguided enthusiasms which lead to endless trouble to all!"
Then as she paused, somewhat breathless and eager, her bright myosotis-coloured eyes anxiously scanning his face he said mildly:
"How beautifully you put things, Mme. la Marquise. I vow I have never heard such a perfect flood of eloquence."
"'Tis not a matter of Madame's eloquence," interposed Louis, with impatience, "though she hath grasped the subject with marvellous clearness of judgment."
"Then 'tis a matter of what, Sire?"
"The Duke of Cumberland has appealed to our loyalty. Though we are at war with England we bear no animus toward her reigning house, and have no wish to see King George's crown snatched from him by that beardless young adventurer, who has no more right to the throne of England than you, milor, to that of France."
"And his Grace of Cumberland has asked his Majesty's help," added Mme. de Pompadour.
"How strange! Just as Prince Charles Edward himself hath done."
"The Duke of Cumberland desires the person of the Pretender," she said, without heeding the interruption, "so that he may no longer incite misguided enthusiasts to rebellion, and cease to plunge Scotland and England into the throes of civil war."
"His Grace asks but little, methinks!" said Lord Eglinton slowly.
"Oh, England is always ready to pay for what she wants," said the Marquise.
"And on this occasion?" asked milor mildly.
"His Grace hath offered us, as man to man, fifteen millions livres for the person of the Pretender," said the King, with sudden decision, and looking M. le Contrôleur straight in the face.
"Ah! as man to man?"
Louis XV and Mme. la Marquise de Pompadour both drew a quick sigh of relief. M. le Contrôleur had taken the proposal with perfect quietude. He had not seemed startled, and his kindly face expressed nothing but gentle amazement, very natural under the circumstances, whilst his voice—even and placid as usual—was not above a whisper.
"As man to man," he repeated, and nodded his head several times, as if pondering over the meaning of this phrase.
How extremely fortunate! Milor had raised no objection! What a pity to have wasted quite so much thought, anxiety, and a wealth of eloquence over a matter which was so easily disposed of! Jeanne de Pompadour gave her royal patron an encouraging nod.
There was a world of wisdom in that nod and in the look which accompanied it. "He takes it so easily," that look seemed to say; "he thinks it quite natural. We must have his help, since we do not know where the fugitive Prince is in hiding. This little milor alone can tell us that, and give us a token by which Charles Edward would trustingly fall into the little ambush which we have prepared for him. But he thinks the affair quite simple. We need not offer him quite so large a share in the pleasant millions as we originally had intended."
All this and more Mme. de Pompadour's nod conveyed to the mind of Louis the Well-beloved, and he too nodded in response before he continued, speaking now more casually, in a calmer, more business-like tone.
"'Tis a fair offer," he said at last; "though the affair will not be quite so easy to conduct as his Grace supposes. He suggests our sending a ship to the coast of Scotland to meet the young adventurer and his friends, take them on board and convey them to an English port, where they will be handed over to the proper authorities. 'Tis fairly simple, methinks."
"Remarkably simple, your Majesty."
"Of course, we need a little help from you, milor. Oh, nothing much—advice as to the spot where our good ship will be most like to find Charles Edward Stuart—a token which if shown to that young firebrand will induce him to trust its bearer, and come on board himself with at least some of his friends. You follow me, milor?"
The question seemed necessary, for Lord Eglinton's face wore such a look of indifference as to astonish even the King, who had been prepared for some measure of protest, at any rate from this man who was being asked to betray his friend. Although Louis was at this period of his life quite deaf to every call of honour and loyalty through that constant, ever-present and exasperating want of money for the satisfaction of his extravagant caprices, nevertheless, there was Bourbon blood in him, and this cried out loudly now, that he was suggesting—nay, more, contemplating—a deed which would have put any of his subjects to shame, and which would have caused some of his most unscrupulous ancestors in mediæval times to writhe with humiliation in their graves. Therefore he had expected loud protest from Lord Eglinton, arguments more or less easy to combat, indignation of course; but this ready acceptance of this ignoble bargain—so strange is human nature!—for the moment quite horrified Louis. Milor took the selling of his friend as calmly as he would that of a horse.
"You follow me, milor?" reiterated the King.
"Yes, yes, Sire," replied Eglinton readily enough. "I follow you."
"You understand the service we ask of you?"
"Yes, yes, I understand."
"For these services, milor, you shall be amply rewarded. We would deem one million livres a fair amount to fall to your share."
"Your Majesty is generous," said Eglinton quite passively.
"We are just, milor," said the King, with a sigh of satisfaction.
M. le Contrôleur seemed satisfied, and there was little else to say. Louis XV began to regret that he had offered him quite so much. Apparently five hundred thousand would have been enough.
"Then we'll call that settled," concluded his Majesty, pushing back his chair preparatory to ending this conversation, which he had so dreaded and which had turned out so highly satisfactory. Pity about that million livres, of course! five hundred thousand might have done, certainly seven! Nathless, M. le Contrôleur's private fortune was not so large as popular rumour had it, or did Mme. Lydie actually hold the purse strings?
"C'est entendu, milor," repeated Louis once more. "We will see to commissioning the ship and to her secret orders. As you see, there is no risk—and we shall be glad to be in the good graces of M. le Duc de Cumberland. To oblige an enemy, eh, milor? an act of peace and good-will in the midst of war. Chivalry, what?—worthy of our ancestor Henri of Navarre! Methinks it will make history."
"I think so, too, Sire," said Eglinton, with obvious conviction.
"Ah! then we'll see to the completion of the affair; we—the King and M. le Duc d'Aumont. You are lucky, milor, your share of the work is so simple; as soon as the ship is ready to sail we'll call on you for the necessary instructions. Par ma foi! 'tis a fine business for us all, milor; one million in your pocket for a word and a token, the residue of the fifteen millions in our royal coffers, and the thanks of his Grace of Cumberland to boot, not to mention the moral satisfaction of having helped to quell an unpleasant rebellion, and of placing one's enemy under lasting obligation. All for the good of France!"
Louis the Well-beloved had risen; he was more than contented; an unctuous smile, a beaming graciousness of expression pervaded his entire countenance. He groped in the wide pocket of his coat, bringing forth a letter which bore a large red seal.
"His Grace's letter, milor," he said with final supreme condescension, and holding the document out to M. le Contrôleur, who took it without a word. "Do you glance through it, and see that we have not been mistaken, that the whole thing is clear, straightforward and——"
"And a damned, accursed, dirty piece of business, Sire!"
It was undoubtedly Lord Eglinton who had spoken, for his right hand, as if in response to his thoughts, was even now crushing the paper which it held, whilst the left was raised preparatory to tearing the infamous proposal to pieces. Yes, it had been milor's even, gentle voice which had uttered this sudden decisive condemnation in the same impassive tones, and still scarce audible even to these two people near him, without passion, without tremor, seemingly without emotion. Just a statement of an undisputable fact, a personal opinion in answer to a question put to him.
Louis, completely thrown off his balance, stared at milor as if he had been suddenly shaken out of a dream; for the moment he thought that his ears must have played him a trick, that he must have misunderstood the words so calmly uttered; instinctively his hand sought the support of the chair which he had just vacated. It seemed as if he needed a solid, a materialistic prop, else his body would have reeled as his brain was doing now. Mme. de Pompadour, too, had jumped to her feet, pushing her chair away with an angry, impatient movement. The disappointment was so keen and sudden, coming just at the moment when triumph seemed so complete. But whilst Louis stared somewhat blankly, at M. le Contrôleur, she, the woman, flashed rage, contempt, vengeance upon him.
He had tricked and fooled her, her as well as the King, leading them on to believe that he approved, the better to laugh at them both in his sleeve.
The contemptible, arrogant wretch!
He was still half sitting, half leaning against the edge of his bed, and staring straight out before him through the big bay window which gave on to the park, passively, gently, as if the matter had ceased to concern him, as if he were quite unconscious of the enormity of his action.
"A—a damned—what?—accursed!—what?——" stammered the King; "but, milor——"
"Nay, Sire, I pray you!" broke in a grave voice suddenly; "my lord seems to have angered your Majesty. Will you deign to explain?"