She prayed that if she married, it would be someone whose home was here. Perhaps that was not an impossibility.
Louise-Elisabeth continued to talk of Spain. She had been reading about that country. Elisabeth Farnese was very ambitious for her sons and she commanded the King, it was said.
Already she plans, thought Anne-Henriette.
Then she smiled, for she heard someone coming towards them and, even before she saw him, Anne-Henriette guessed it was the young Duc de Chartres, the grandson of the late Regent, the Duc d’Orléans.
He was very handsome; indeed in Anne-Henriette’s eyes he was the most handsome person at the Court comparing favourably even with her father. He bowed before the Princesses.
‘Madame Première, Madame Seconde!’ he murmured.
‘Greetings on this beautiful morning.’
Both Princesses smiled at him, but his eyes lingered on Anne-Henriette.
‘I hope I do not intrude?’ said the Duc. ‘May I walk with you?’
Anne-Henriette looked at her sister. ‘But of course,’ said Louise-Elisabeth quickly; and it was clear that her thoughts were with the conference in the Palace and not on such trivial matters.
‘There is great activity in the Palace this day, Monsieur de Chartres,’ said Anne-Henriette.
‘That is so, Madame.’
A look of anxiety had come into his eyes; he continued to gaze at her as though he were unaware of the presence of Madame Louise-Elisabeth.
When the Duc de Chartres had joined the girls, their gouvernante and sous-gouvernante, who had had them under surveillance from some short distance, approached; but before they reached the little group a breathless page came running to them.
Both Princesses and the Duc de Chartres seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for the words of the page who, they believed, could tell them a great deal.
‘What do you want?’ called Louise-Elisabeth before the page had reached them.
‘Madame . . .’ He paused, and it seemed to them all that the silence went on for a long time; but that was an illusion.
‘Madame Louise-Elisabeth,’ he continued, ‘His Majesty would speak with you at once.’
The tension was relaxed. Louise-Elisabeth bowed her head. She began to follow the page across the grass, back to the Palace – on her way to Spain and who knew what honour and glory.
Anne-Henriette stared after her. She did not realise that the women had now joined her. She was only aware of the exquisite beauty of Versailles and the intense joy in the eyes of the young Duc de Chartres.
In the Abbaye de Port Royal a young woman sat angrily stitching at a piece of embroidery. Her needle jabbed at the work and she scowled at the stitches.
She had commanded one of the young ladies, who was also in the convent and in a similar position to herself, to come and talk to her. Pauline-Félicité de Nesle always commanded and, strangely enough, others obeyed. The conversations which took place between her and her chosen companions were usually monologues interspersed with exclamations of admiration, surprise, or monosyllabic queries. She would allow nothing more.
Now she was saying: ‘Do you realise that I am twenty-four years of age? Twenty-four! And shut away in a place like this. I am expected to grow quiet and modest and contented with my lot. Contented! I, Pauline-Félicité de Nesle, to spend the rest of my days here! Is it not ridiculous?’
She paused for her companion’s nod which was quickly given.
‘All this . . . while my sister is at Court. And moreover not as a humble lady-in waiting. My sister could rule France if she wished. It is only because she is a fool that she does not. Louise-Julie is the King’s mistress. Think of that. Imagine the time she has . . . and compare her life with mine. Anyone would be a fool to endure it. I am not a fool. Do you think I am a fool?’
‘Oh, no, Mademoiselle de Nesle.’
‘Then shall I stay here, stitching on stuff like this? Saying my prayers? Watching my youth fade away? King’s mistresses should help their families. It is a duty. If I were in Louise-Julie’s place . . . but I am not. Yet why am I not? I tell you it is only lack of opportunity. She married our cousin, the Comte de Mailly, and that took her to Court. Had I been the eldest daughter, had I married the Comte de Mailly and gone to Court, I tell you, it would now be Pauline-Félicité, not Louise-Julie who was the most important woman at the Court. Do you not agree?’
‘Oh, yes, Mademoiselle de Nesle.’
‘And if I were the King’s mistress, I would not be content to remain in the background. I would rule France. I would give that old fool Fleury his congé, for it is he, not my sister, who rules the King. And that is not how it should be. Everyone knows that it is the King’s mistress who should rule, not some stupid old minister who has too long eluded the grave. Oh, if I were in my sister’s place things would be very different at Court. You believe that?’
‘Oh, yes, Mademoiselle de Nesle.’ Her companion looked at her and thought: Oh, no, Mademoiselle de Nesle. Pauline-Félicité did not see herself as others saw her. She was by no means beautiful. She was very tall and in fact ugly, although it was an ugliness which attracted attention. It was impossible to be in a room with Pauline-Félicité, no matter how many others were present, and not notice her. Moreover she was clever. She knew a great deal more about the affairs of the country than anyone else in the convent. She made it her business to know, as though it was all part of some great plan. Everyone was in awe of her – even the Mother Superior, because her tongue was so quick and clever and no one could escape it.
Therefore it was neccessary to go on saying: Oh, yes, or Oh, no, Mademoiselle de Nesle, whichever the fiery Pauline-Félicité demanded.
‘I shall tell you what I now propose to do,’ said Pauline-Félicité. ‘I am going to write to my sister and remind her of her duty. I am going to tell her that she must arrange for me to go to Court without delay. Are you looking sceptical?’
‘Oh, no, Mademoiselle de Nesle.’
‘I am glad of that, for you would then be stupid. You would look very foolish when my invitation came, would you not? I have decided to waste no more time. I am going to write to my sister immediately. Here . . . you may finish this piece of embroidery for me.’
Pauline-Félicité threw the work into her companion’s lap and stalked from the room.
An uneasy atmosphere prevailed in the intimate circles of the Court.
Louis was still paying occasional nightly visits to the Queen; she was still trying hard to elude him. Often at his intimate supper parties he would drink too freely and at such times his restraint would desert him.
Marie had been pregnant once more, but on account of over-exertion she had had a miscarriage; her doctors thought she had borne too many children too quickly. Marie thought so too, and on one occasion when Louis came to her room, there was a scene which was witnessed by no member of the Court because it took place in the early hours of the morning. All that the King’s attendants knew was that he walked out of the Queen’s bedroom and seemed to have come to a decision.
They were right. He had decided that henceforth all conjugal relations should cease, and thus little Louise-Marie would remain Madame Dernière.