Philippe, white-lipped with anger—for never had it seemed to him that de Guiche looked more handsome—gave his arm to his wife and led her away.
All through that evening, behind their masks, guests talked of this affair; and Henriette knew that, before the night was over, news of what had happened at the masked ball would reach the ears of Louis.
She had implored the King to believe her guiltless. He was kind. He agreed on the villainy of de Vardes, but still he allowed him to go free. In her heart, Henriette knew that he did not entirely believe in her innocence.
Was there no one to whom she could appeal? There was only one person in the world whom she could entirely trust, and he was on the other side of the water.
At last she decided to ask for Charles’ help, and she wrote to him:
I have begged the Ambassador to send you this courier that he may inform you truly of the affair which has happened about de Vardes. This is a matter so serious that I fear it will affect the rest of my life. If I cannot obtain my object, I shall feel disgraced forever that a private individual has been allowed to insult me with impunity, and if nothing is done to punish this man, it will be a warning to the world in future how they dare attack me. All France is interested in the outcome of this affair. Out of your love for me, I beg you ask the King for justice. I am hoping that the consideration in which you are held here will settle this matter. It will not be the first debt I have owed you, nor the one for which I shall feel the least grateful, since it will enable me to obtain justice in the future.
She knew that her cry for help would not be in vain. Charles answered at once that she could rely on his assistance.
Two weeks later de Vardes was lodged in the Bastille.
As for de Guiche, it was clear that he must not be seen at Court again. His father, the Maréchal de Gramont, advised him to beg one last audience with Louis, during which he must convince the King that he served no other master; after that he must depart and never see Henriette again.
This de Guiche promised to do, but he could not deprive himself of one last farewell. He dared not seek her in her apartments, so he dressed himself in the livery of one of the servants of La Vallière that he might see Henriette pass in her chair from the Palais-Royal to the Louvre.
This was the last he saw of her before he left for Holland and a brilliant military career.
The affair of de Guiche and de Vardes was closed, the King implied; but he continued to ponder on the relationship between Henriette and her brother.
TEN
A year had passed since the imprisonment of de Vardes and the banishment of de Guiche.
Louis was often in the company of Henriette. Always he was deeply affectionate, although at times she was aware of those suspicions which would return to his mind, and they always concerned her brother Charles.
Now that Louis was coming into his kingdom, now that he had made himself true ruler of France, he began to realize that he could use Henriette’s influence with her brother in negotiations between the two countries. Moreover, Henriette’s quick mind was as good as that of any statesman he possessed; and Louis was shrewd enough to know that a woman who was in love with him would make a better servant than anyone who worked for his own fame and glory.
There was only one doubt which arose now and then in his mind: Did the affection of Henriette for her brother exceed that which she had for himself?
He could not be entirely sure. It was a matter of great fascination and importance to him. This love between himself and Henriette was of greater interest to him than the more easily understood passions which he felt for La Vallière and her new rival, Madame de Montespan.
His mother, Queen Anne, was very ill, and he was aware that she could not live long. As he danced with Henriette, La Vallière or Montespan, his thoughts went often to his mother. He was fond of her, although lately she had interfered too much in his affairs, and she could not forget that he was her child, and continued to look upon him as such.
“Poor Mama!” he often murmured. “How she loves me! But she never understood me.”
In the Palais-Royal, the great gallery of which was hung with mirrors and brilliant with torches, the new play by Molière, Médecin Malgré Lui, was performed for the first time, after the banquet.
Louis, with Henriette beside him, laughed loudly at the wit of his favorite playwright, and forgot his mother.
He was happy. He enjoyed such occasions. It was good to have a quiet little wife who adored him. She was not here tonight to admire him in his suit of purple velvet covered in diamonds and pearls, because she was in mourning for her father. He was glad she was absent, for the sight of his mistresses always distressed her, and La Vallière was pregnant again. It was good to have such a meek and tender mistress as La Vallière and such a bold and witty one as Madame de Montespan. And all the time he was enjoying a love affair on a higher plane with his elegant and clever Henriette. He enjoyed the pathos of their relationship; he did not see why it should not endure forever. Tonight she had arranged this entertainment for him; all the most brilliant fêtes, masks and ballets were arranged by Henriette for the pleasure of her King. If only he could have been entirely sure that her affection for him obsessed her completely, he would have been content.
But he was forever conscious of the dark witty man on the other side of the water, in whose capital city men were now falling like flies, stricken by the deadly plague.
About the bedside of the dying Queen Mother of France were her children, Louis and Philippe, and with them stood their wives, Marie-Thérèse and Henriette.
All four were in tears. Anne had suffered deeply, and her death was by no means unexpected. The beautiful hands, now gaunt and yellow, plucked at the sheets, and her eyes, sunken with pain, turned again and again to the best loved of them all.
Louis was deeply moved; he was on his knees recalling that great affection which she had always given him.
Philippe was also moved. She had loved him too in her way, but, being a simple woman, she had not been able to disguise from him the fact that almost all the affection she had to give must go to her glorious firstborn.
Philippe took the hot hand and kissed it.
“Be good, my children,” murmured Anne.
Henriette turned away because she could no longer bear to look on such suffering. She wished that she had not flouted Anne’s advice; she wished that there were time to tell the dying Queen that she now understood how foolish she had been in pursuing gaiety, and so giving rise to scandals such as those concerning de Guiche and de Vardes. But it was too late.
“Louis … beloved …” whispered the Queen.
“My dearest Mother.”
“Louis … be kind to the Queen. Do not … humiliate her with your mistresses. It is sad for a little Queen … so young …”
Marie-Thérèse, who was kneeling by the bed, covered her face with her hands, but Louis had placed his hand on her shoulder.
“I ask your forgiveness,” he said, the tears streaming down his cheeks. “I ask both of you to forgive me …”
“Remember me when I am gone,” said Anne. “Remember, my dearest, how I lived for you alone. Remember me …”
“Dearest Mama … dearest Mama …” murmured the King.
And all four about the bed were weeping as Anne of Austria ceased to breathe.
Very soon after Anne’s death, gaiety was resumed at Court. Louis was now free from all restraint. He planned a great carnival; it was to be more magnificent than anything that had gone before.
Henriette arranged the ballet.
The Queen came to her at the Palais-Royal, and when they were alone together she wept bitterly and told her sister-in-law how galling it was for her to see La Vallière and Montespan at Court.