The Road to Compiegne (33 page)

Madame de Pompadour was thoughtful for a few moments, then she said: ‘Hausset, this afternoon we will take a walk in the Bois.’

The Marquise with Madame du Hausset left their carriage and walked under the trees.

It was a warm afternoon, but the Marquise wore a scarf, wound loosely round her neck, in which the lower half of her face was hidden. The wide-brimmed hat shaded her eyes.

There were not many people in the Bois that day; therefore Madame du Hausset had no difficulty in leading her mistress to that spot where Mademoiselle de Romans sat under a tree, suckling her baby.

Madame du Hausset approached the mother and child.

‘Forgive me, Madame,’ she said, ‘but that is a very beautiful child.’

Mademoiselle de Romans smiled dazzlingly. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I entirely agree.’

‘My friend wants to see him. She is suffering from acute toothache at the moment.’

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ said Mademoiselle de Romans. ‘It can be so very painful.’ She looked at the Marquise who, covering her face more closely in the fold of the scarf, had approached. She held out the child and the Marquise bent to look at him.

‘Delightful, delightful,’ she mumbled.

‘Does he take after you or his father?’ Madame du Hausset asked.

Mademoiselle de Romans could not suppress the satisfied smile which spread over her face.

‘I am told that there can be no doubt whatever that he is his father’s son,’ she said, smiling. ‘I am sure you would agree with me if I told you who he is.’

‘Have I the honour of his acquaintance?’

Again that smile showed itself at the corners of Mademoiselle de Romans’ mouth. ‘I think,’ she said demurely, ‘that it is very likely that you have seen him.’

‘It was kind of you to show us the lovely little creature,’ added Madame du Hausset. ‘You must forgive us the intrusion.’

‘Mesdames, it was a pleasure indeed. You have been most kind.’

As they went back to the carriage, Madame du Hausset knew that the Marquise was disturbed.

‘Rumour does not lie about the child,’ she said. ‘He is indeed a perfect specimen. As for the mother, she is very beautiful.’

Meanwhile Mademoiselle de Romans continued to smile.

She kissed the baby’s dark head and whispered: ‘Did they think to deceive me? Did they think I did not recognise them? That was Madame de Pompadour herself with the faithful Madame du Hausset. And they came here to see your precious Highness. Now we know it cannot be long. Did she not say you were a beautiful creature? Soon you will be publicly acknowledged, my precious. Then all the world will know that you are the son of the King – and once you are acknowledged, my darling, there will be no end to the honours I shall ask for you; and because you are quite irresistible you will get them.’

It was a very contented Mademoiselle de Romans who sat with His Highness in the Bois that afternoon.

Mademoiselle de Romans found it very difficult to restrain her exuberance. She told her servants the reason for it.

‘It cannot be long now before His Highness is legitimised,’ she said. ‘He has already won the approval of Madame de Pompadour. I believe His Majesty sent her to the Bois to see my son, to assure her that he is all his father believes him to be.’

The servants were a little dubious. Madame de Pompadour would surely be a little envious of His Highness.

‘Oh no,’ said Mademoiselle de Romans, ‘he is so disarming. People only have to look at him to love him.’

‘Madame,’ suggested her servants, ‘when His Highness is honoured, it will follow that his mother must be also.’

Mademoiselle de Romans conceded that this must be so.

It was impossible for his fond mother to restrain her pride. When she took the child to the Bois and people stopped to admire him, she found herself explaining who he was, and why he was called Highness. She hinted that he was certainly soon to be recognised.

The whisper went round Paris. How beautiful is the King’s
petite maîtresse
, and her son is surely one of the loveliest children in Paris. Did you know that he is about to be acknowledged as the King’s son? The Marquise will have to look to her laurels, eh?
Petite maîtresse
, indeed. Depend upon it the mother of that child is aiming to be received at Versailles as
maîtresse-en-titre
.

The Marquise was strolling with the King in the gardens. They passed the Orangerie and were gazing at the Pièce d’Eau des Suisses when the Marquise said: ‘Mademoiselle de Romans is creating a little gossip in the capital, I fear.’

The King’s expression hardened slightly, but the Marquise was more sure of herself than she had been before the Damiens affair and she felt this to be a matter with which she must proceed, even at the risk of offending the King.

‘The child is certainly beautiful,’ she went on. ‘One can understand her pride in him. But I think that the woman has lost her sense of proportion, and that can be so dangerous for herself . . . and others.’

Louis paused and then said: ‘She has lately written several letters to me.’

‘Indeed! That is a little presumptuous.’

‘She has suddenly become obsessed with an idea that I intend to acknowledge the child.’

‘It would seem that she is trying to force Your Majesty to a decision. That is unwise of her.’

‘She is a proud mother,’ said the King almost tenderly.

‘Pride can be dangerous. Perhaps it is a pity that Mademoiselle de Romans was never at Versailles. Here she might have learned to behave with decorum. Her conduct at present is . . . a little vulgar, do you not think so?’

‘It was never so before the birth of the child,’ said the King. ‘I think we must blame the maternal feelings.’

The Marquise was growing more and more apprehensive. The King was actually making excuses for the woman. This could mean only one thing. She
was
more than a
petite maîtresse
to him. He had not thought of casting her off. The Marquise knew the King well enough. Let Mademoiselle de Romans find him in the necessary indulgent mood and all her requests would be granted.

An outstandingly beautiful woman, who was not without education, mother of a child whose beauty was phenomenal. The Marquise could well believe that Mademoiselle de Romans might become another Marquise de Pompadour; she had all the necessary qualities to make her so.

‘It is always a matter of acute grief to me,’ she said, ‘to hear Your Majesty’s name being bandied about by the common people. I fear that in her enthusiasm for her child Mademoiselle de Romans is bringing about this unhappy state of affairs.’

Louis nodded.

‘Would Your Majesty allow me to explain to this woman . . . to let her know that she has placed you in a delicate position by her importuning and the unpleasant publicity which her conduct is drawing upon herself – and unforgivably – her King? You may trust my discretion. I think that if the young woman and her baby left Paris for a while, that would be a happy solution. They could return when the gossips have forgotten what an exhibition she made of herself.’

The King had turned to admire the ornate Bassin de Neptune.

He was very fond of his belle Madeleine; he had an affection for the child; but she had changed since the birth, and she did provide a somewhat awkward situation at the moment.

He laid his hand on the arm of the Marquise. ‘I know, my dear,’ he said, ‘that I can safely leave this little affair in your hands.’

‘Thank you. I suggest a sojourn in a convent . . . not too far from Paris, so that Your Majesty could visit her, if you so wished.’

‘I think that is an excellent plan.’

‘Then I will proceed with it, and you need concern yourself with this affair no more. There are more pressing problems. Monsieur de Choiseul asked for an audience today. I see it is almost time for his arrival.’

‘Then let us return to the
Château
,’ said the King.

Mademoiselle de Romans had fed her baby and he was sleeping in his cradle when her servants came to tell her that a messenger from Versailles was below.

‘It has come at last,’ cried Mademoiselle de Romans. ‘This is what I have been waiting for. I am summoned to Versailles. Did I not tell you?’

She turned to kiss the sleeping child. ‘Back soon, my precious Highness,’ she murmured. ‘You will soon be making a journey to Versailles.’

She went downstairs. Waiting for her was a King’s messenger. He was not alone, for with him had come several of the King’s guards.

She was surprised but, being prepared for anything, she greeted the messenger warmly.

‘I have a letter from the King,’ she was told.

She took it and read it.

She could not believe it. She read it again. She sat down feeling faint with fear. This was not the letter she had been expecting. This was one of those dreaded letters about which there was such controversy throughout France. The
lettre de cachet
which, for no given reason, could send a person into exile or to prison simply because that was the wish of the King.

It was now his wish that she should immediately leave for a convent outside the city, and there she should live in comfort until she received the King’s orders to return to her house.

‘There has been a mistake,’ she said. ‘This is not meant for me.’

‘You are Mademoiselle de Romans?’

‘Yes . . . I am.’

‘Then this is addressed to you.’

She seemed as if she would faint, and two of the guards caught her and helped her to a chair.

One of her servants had appeared, white-faced, in the doorway.

‘Madame . . .’ she screamed. ‘They are upstairs . . .’

But one of the guards said to her peremptorily: ‘Bring something to revive your mistress. She is fainting.’