It was a brilliant occasion. The Salon d’Hercule and the Galerie des Glaces, with the six reception rooms between them, were put at the disposal of the guests, and even so there seemed scarcely enough space to accommodate all who came. Costumes, beautiful and bizarre, daring and glittering, made a sight to be remembered. Under the carved and gilded cornice of the Salon d’Hercule the guests gathered; they sat at the exquisite guéridons of silver in the Galerie des Glaces; the light from the seventeen crystal chandeliers and the smaller candelabra picked out the colours in the galaxy of jewels; it was one of the most dazzling balls which had ever taken place even in the Palace of Versailles.
And to all the colour, brilliance and splendour was added that tension which had its roots in the exciting question: Will the King choose a new mistress tonight?
Anne-Henriette was one who had come to the ball without any great pleasure. Every time such an occasion presented itself and she witnessed the excitement of others, she would feel sad. She was but eighteen and yet she felt that all hope of happiness was lost to her.
She believed that the Duc de Chartres had become resigned. He had a wife now; sometimes he looked at her with regret, but was that because he had been forced to make a less brilliant marriage than he had hoped? He could go to war and make a new life for himself in the army. When he had been wounded in that campaign in which her father had been with his armies, she had heard that the Duchesse de Chartres was going to the front to be with the Duc.
I should have been the one, she thought.
He had offended Madame de Châteauroux when that woman had been dismissed from the King’s bedside at Metz. And when the King had recovered, and Madame de Châteauroux had been taken back into favour, the young Duc had been alarmed for his future.
That was all over now, but such alarms and excitements would help one to forget. Yet what could a young Princesse do but sit at her embroidery, go through all the ceremonies which were demanded of her and continue to mourn for her lost lover?
Anne-Henriette adjusted her mask and stood close to the white and gold brocade hangings which decorated the Galerie. This was one of the rare occasions when a Princesse could mingle with the people as one of them, and she had heard that not only the nobility had been admitted to tonight’s ball.
As she looked at that whirling mass of people she felt someone touch her hand lightly, and turning startled, she saw a masked face near her own.
‘Have you ever seen so many people in the Galerie before?’ asked a voice which was different from the voices she usually heard and set her wondering why.
‘I . . . I do not think there have ever been so many people in the Galerie.’
‘Do you not find it a little . . . overpowering?’
‘Why yes. I could wish there were fewer.’
‘People here tonight have never seen anything so wonderful as this Galerie of yours.’
Of yours? It sounded as though he were not a Frenchman. Of course he was not. His accent was not of France.
‘You are wondering who I am,’ he went on. ‘Shall we dance awhile?’
‘I am ready to,’ answered Anne-Henriette.
They moved among the whirling people.
‘So much noise,’ he said, ‘one can scarcely hear the music. It is not easy to talk, is it?’
‘Do we need to talk?’
‘Perhaps not yet. But later.’
She found that she had stopped wondering whether she would meet the Duc de Chartres on this night, and if she did, what they would say to each other.
It was long since she had danced like this. She was conscious of a great pleasure, not only because she felt that the future need not be all melancholy, but because she was suddenly aware that it might be possible to escape from the past.
He had danced with her out of the Galerie and through several of the reception rooms; she did not know how long they danced or where he led her, but she found herself alone with him in a small ante-room, and there they stopped breathlessly to look at each other.
‘You are fatigued?’ he asked gently.
‘No . . . no,’ she answered quickly and marvelled that she was not, for she had grown frail lately and was easily tired.
‘I must confess,’ he said. ‘I know you to be Madame Seconde. Do you know who I am?’
‘I know that you are not French,’ she answered.
‘Then you have guessed half the truth. The rest is simple. Or shall I remove my mask?’
‘No . . . I pray you, do not. I will guess.’
‘Shall I give you a clue? I am a Prince, as Royal as yourself. If I had not been I would not have approached you as I did. I am also a beggar, an exile, come to France for the help I hope your father will give me.’
‘I know you now,’ she cried. ‘You are the young Chevalier de St. Georges.’
He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Charles Edward Stuart, at your service.’
‘I am glad to have an opportunity to wish you Godspeed in your adventure.’
‘May God bless you for that. I shall succeed, of course I shall succeed. When I have driven the German from the throne of England, when my father is restored and the Stuarts regain what is theirs by right . . . ah, then . . .’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘what then?’
‘Then,’ he said, ‘I shall not come as a beggar to France. I shall not come to plead for money . . . men . . . ships.’ He laughed suddenly and his eyes glittered through his mask. ‘But,’ he added, ‘I shall never forget a February night in 1745 when I danced with a Princesse at a masked ball. And perhaps, because I cannot forget, I shall come back and plead once more with the King of France.’
‘That,’ she said, ‘was a charming speech. Shall we dance again?’
‘You are tired?’
‘No . . . I am not tired. That is strange, for I should be. I want to mingle with the crowds in the ballrooms. I want to dance. I feel as though I could go on dancing all night.’
‘Is that because your heart, which was heavy, has become light?’
‘You say such strange things.’
‘Come,’ he said. ‘You are right. It is well that we join the other revellers. There is much I have to do. In the summer I shall return to England . . . to Scotland . . . You will think of me while I am away?’
‘I shall think of you constantly, and I shall pray for your success.’
‘Pray, my Princesse, pray with all your heart. For what happens to me over there this summer could be of great importance to us both.’
So back to the dancers they went, and under that ceiling with its magnificent allegorical carvings the Princess Anne-Henriette began to be happy again. The Chevalier de St Georges had made her aware of him, and a pressure of the hand, a tenderness of the voice had brought her out of the melancholy past so that she could now look towards a future which held a certain elusive promise.
Marie the Queen watched the dancers. She recognised Louis in spite of his incongruous disguise. Even though several of his friends had come in similar costumes she knew which of them was the King. He and his friends had attempted to dress like yew trees clipped to various bizarre shapes; it was very effective and caused a great deal of amusement and applause – which made it clear that many knew Louis was in that group.
She felt sentimental tonight. Occasions such as this reminded her of the festivities which had followed her own marriage. Then they had been together, she and Louis – Louis a boy the same age as today’s bridegroom. Did Louis remember, when he had seen their son with his bride, so happy to have her with him?
This wedding is so like ours, she thought. Poor Marie-Thérèse-Raphaëlle! I hope she will be happier than I have been.