The Road to Compiegne

Chapter XIII MADEMOISELLE DE ROMANS

Louis sought desperately to forget the war and all its problems and, because he was Louis, he found his greatest consolation among the attractive young women whom Le Bel brought to him.

Most of these came to him by way of the Parc aux Cerfs but some pleased him so much that he took them from this establishment and set them up in houses of their own.

Mademoiselle Hainault was the daughter of a prosperous merchant. Her outstanding beauty had brought her to Le Bel’s notice and, as even prosperous merchants saw great advantage in their daughters’ being given to the King, her family put nothing in the way of her progress. They did insist however that this daughter of members of the respectable middle class should not be an inmate of the Parc aux Cerfs.

Having seen the girl, Louis found the parents’ request reasonable. Thus Mademoiselle Hainault was given her own establishment and when – but not for some years – Louis tired of her, he provided a Marquis for a husband. In return she gave Louis two daughters.

Another girl who received special favours was the illegitimate daughter of the Vicomte de Ravel – Lucie-Magdeleine d’Estaing, who also gave the King two daughters.

Madame de Pompadour looked on benignly at these relationships, since they kept the King amused and gave her not the slightest tremor of apprehension. She knew that since the consequences of the Damiens outrage had brought disgrace to such powerful men as d’Argenson and Machault, it would have to be a very brave man or woman who would dare challenge her power.

But the ever-watchful Marquise began to notice that the King was not visiting his Parc aux Cerfs with the same eagerness as he had previously, and it occurred to her that he had had a surfeit of his grisettes.

If that were so, it could only mean that the danger could become imminent of a Court lady, with powerful friends behind her, winning the King’s attention.

She feared that Le Bel, in searching for women who would please his master, might conceivably choose them according to his own taste. Might this not result in a stream of girls who had rather similar characteristics being brought to the Parc aux Cerfs? No wonder Louis was becoming jaded!

What must be found was a beauty of an entirely different kind, and the Marquise decided she would send out new scouts to discover her.

She sent for Sartines, the Lieutenant of the Police, and told him to search Paris for a girl who was beautiful but not conventionally so; she must have some startling quality in her appearance; she must be someone who was outstandingly different.

Sartines, realising that one of his most important duties, if he were a wise man, was to please the Marquise, set out on his search.

His was a difficult task, for the King’s inexhaustible adventurings appeared to have led him to acquire all shapes and sizes.

One day when he was in a gaming-house, and talking idly to the proprietress, she spoke nostalgically of her childhood in Grenoble.

‘Ah, Monsieur, if my parents could see me now! What a difference, eh . . . That quiet house in the square. Papa so strict, taking such care of his daughters . . . and what has happened? One of them comes to Paris to run a gaming-house.’

Sartines nodded. She was a handsome woman and he had no wish to try his luck at the tables today. He invited her to drink with him and she accepted; but he could see that her thoughts were far away in a quiet house in a Grenoble square.

‘Oh yes, Papa guarded us well. I . . . and my sister. Mind you, he would have to guard her well. I went to see them only a few months ago. Very respectable I had to become, Monsieur le Lieutenant. No mention of the gaming-house! Had I told them of that I should not have been allowed to see my sister. She is beautiful. I have never seen anyone quite like her. She is like one of the statues you see in the gardens. She is the tallest woman I ever saw.’

‘The tallest woman you ever saw . . .’ murmured the Lieutenant hastily. ‘Tell me, how tall is Mademoiselle?’

‘Mademoiselle de Romans is six feet tall, I swear. She is exactly like one of those stone goddesses. I always thought there could not be women quite like that – towering above other women, perfectly shaped, with black eyes and black hair. My sister is a goddess, Monsieur. If you saw her you would know why she is never allowed out without a chaperone.’

‘If I saw her, I am sure I should agree with you,’ said the Lieutenant with a smile.

He was determined to see her – and that without delay.

As soon as Sartines set eyes on Mademoiselle de Romans he was certain that the search which Madame de Pompadour had commanded him to make was ended.

He saw her in the company of her parents. Lawyer de Romans was quite clearly a stern and self-righteous man; but the Lieutenant did not experience any great qualms. The honours to be gained by becoming the King’s mistress were equal to any which could come to Mademoiselle de Romans through any marriage she could make in Grenoble – that was if one counted honour by material gain, which the Lieutenant was sure Lawyer de Romans would.

He asked for an invitation to the house, saying that he came on very important business from Versailles. The magic word ‘Versailles’ immediately gained this and, as they sat over their wine, the Lieutenant said: ‘Your daughter must be the most beautiful girl in Grenoble, perhaps in France.’

The lawyer looked pleased.

‘What a precious possession!’ went on the Lieutenant. ‘For it is clear that not only is she beautiful but virtuous.’

‘We have guarded her well,’ said the lawyer. ‘But Monsieur, shall we discuss your business?’

‘She is my business, Monsieur de Romans. I want you to bring her to Versailles.’

‘For what purpose?’

‘That would depend on your daughter. She could make a great position for herself at Court, Monsieur. It is a sin to hide one so outstanding in beauty and virtue from the world and keep from her those advantages which her merit would bring her.’

Monsieur de Romans rested his elbows on the table and looked earnestly at the Lieutenant.

‘My daughter has many suitors, Monsieur. There is none whom I have so far deemed worthy of her. I should need a very excellent proposition before I could consider your suggestion. I have my daughter’s future to think of.’

‘You are a wise parent, Monsieur. Let us make a bargain. Let her be brought to Versailles – oh, with the utmost decorum of course. I can assure you that there would be no difficulty in bringing her to the notice of the King himself. Moreover I feel sure that, once His Majesty had set eyes on Mademoiselle de Romans, he would be so delighted with her beauty that he would make sure the excellent proposition, which you insist on, would not be denied her.’

‘It would have to be a very excellent proposition,’ said the lawyer.

‘Let us arrange this. Have her brought to Versailles. If the . . . proposition is not to your taste, you can bring her back to her sequestered life. I am sure she will find a worthy husband of the haute bourgeoisie here in Grenoble. That would no doubt be very satisfactory for a young lady of her position in society – who is not possessed of great ambitions.’

The lawyer’s eyes gleamed with cupidity and determination.

His daughter was going to Versailles. He foresaw a brilliant future, for the sake of which he and her mother would smother those qualms they felt regarding their daughter’s entering into an unsanctified union. Who knew, such a union might eventually lead to marriage with the haute noblesse. How different a future that would be from what could only be hers if she continued to live her sheltered life in Grenoble!

When the King saw her he was enchanted.

He said she was like a goddess. She was Minerva, so perfectly shaped, a woman to tower above all others in her physical perfection, a woman surely not of this earth.

Sartines informed the King that her father was a highly respectable lawyer and as such could not allow his daughter to become an inmate of the Parc aux Cerfs.

‘Indeed not,’ said the King. ‘Arrange an establishment for her immediately. Let it be luxurious enough to please her parents, for I feel very grateful to them for having produced such a daughter.’

She was under nineteen years of age and bewildered by the change of fortune which had come to her. She had been well educated, a fact which would have perturbed the Marquise had she been aware of it; and the tender charm of her royal lover soon overcame her reluctance. She was immediately put at ease by his gracious manners. She must forget, Louis told her, that he was the King. When they were together he was plain Louis de Bourbon who was falling more deeply in love every day with Mademoiselle de Romans.

Sartines had certainly succeeded in finding someone who was different from the pretty little toys who only pleased for a short time.

This intelligent young Amazon would, Louis believed, always have the power to delight him. He was certain that he would never tire of her.

She was gentle by nature and that appealed to him; she did not ask impossibilities although she did not forget that she was no grisette, but the daughter of a respectable lawyer.

Louis was eager to shower gifts upon her. She had her own magnificent carriage and rode about Paris in this, a figure of statuesque beauty. Because of her great height she did not wear her magnificent hair piled high, but low on her head. Very soon the women of Paris were following the new fashion and hair was being dressed à la Romans.

People wandered out to her charming house at Passy to look at her, to note what she was wearing, the way she did her hair.

She became known throughout Paris and Versailles as la petite maîtresse, a name given her partly ironically, since she was far from petite, partly to distinguish her from that grande maîtresse, Madame de Pompadour.

Madame de Pompadour smiled graciously on the newcomer, but after a while she began to wonder whether Sartines had been too assiduous in his duty when he had set out to find someone who was entirely different from all others.

Was she so wise to have given that order?

She heard, for she had informants in all quarters and naturally she would not overlook the establishment of Mademoiselle de Romans, that the King’s petite maîtresse often received him reclining on a couch of taffeta, completely nude, but that her wonderful hair was so long that it made a rippling blue-black cloak through which her alabaster skin gleamed like the statues in the gardens of Versailles.

The Marquise winced. She must keep a vigilant eye on la petite maîtresse.

The Duc de Choiseul was delighted with the good fortunes which had come his way.

He had placed himself in charge of Foreign Affairs, War and the Navy; and since the country was at war, this meant that he was virtually the most important man in France.

He was of an optimistic nature and refused to be depressed by defeat; he had an unlimited belief in his own powers to rule, and, no matter what disaster befell France, he was certain that he, the great Choiseul, the man of the moment, would bring his country and himself gloriously through every ordeal.

He was completely given to the Austrian cause because he was of Lorraine and, since Maria Theresa’s husband was the Duc de Lorraine, there was a certain family connexion between himself and the Imperial House of Austria. He was determined to maintain the alliance no matter how unpopular it was.

He was volatile and witty, and therefore a man who delighted the King. If the country’s affairs were in an unsatisfactory state, Louis preferred the optimistic view; he liked to be with men who made him laugh. Choiseul, making light of France’s troubles, making much of her happier prospects, brought contentment to Louis, and made it possible for him to continue with his pleasures, his conscience stilled.

Choiseul had brought about the third Treaty of Vienna in which he promised Maria Theresa the aid of a hundred thousand Frenchmen. The Treaty assured her that France would not sign a peace treaty until Frederick had returned Silesia to Austria. It was small wonder that Maria Theresa was delighted with the Treaty, particularly as, in return for these benefits, she was not asked to help France in her struggle against England. Choiseul had however received the pledge of Elizabeth the Czarina to help France in the struggle against her enemies.

The Marquise persuaded the King that Choiseul was the most brilliant statesman France had known since the days of the Cardinals, Richelieu and Mazarin.

Meanwhile Choiseul carefully picked as his subordinates men whom he could trust to serve him. Many of his actions were bold rather than brilliant. He had attempted an invasion of England, in his enthusiasm forgetting the power of the English fleet. French squadrons were miserably defeated everywhere they attacked, and the result was disaster so great that the French could no longer be said to possess a home fleet.

Seventeen fifty-nine was a year of tragedy. In Canada the Marquis de Montcalm was beseeching the Government to send him help against the British. He died at Quebec in September of that year and, although General Wolfe the leader of the British troops died also, that battle ended in a resounding victory for the British.

Choiseul, realising that the war could not be won, sought to make peace with England, but Prime Minister Pitt was determined to continue the war.

The people were crying out against the Austrian alliance, and Choiseul, resilient as ever, dexterous as a conjurer, looked about him for a new rabbit to pull out of his hat.

He believed he had it.

He went to see his sister with whom he often discussed affairs. He had a great respect for her and his passionate devotion blinded him to many of her faults.

She received him affectionately.

He looked at her with admiration, his head on one side, seeing her as the beloved companion of his childhood whom he had brought to Court to be with him when they had very little money and only their noble lineage as assets.

‘You are beautiful,’ he told her.

She drew him to her in an embrace. She was taller than he was and many of their enemies said that she was the more masculine of the two.

‘Why does the King have to send for a lawyer’s daughter when he could find what he wants at Court?’ murmured Choiseul.

The Duchess laughed. ‘Ha! And how goes this great love affair with Venus?’

‘Minerva, my dear Minerva. I had it from his Majesty’s own lips. Mademoiselle de Romans is as superb as a goddess. She is Minerva herself.’

‘Minerva,’ said the Duchesse. ‘Now I should have thought Venus more suited to Louis’ mood. Was not Minerva impervious to the claims of love?’

‘There have been too many Venuses in Louis’ life. Let him have his Minerva for a change. Change! It is all change. Richelieu has impressed upon him that variety is the sauce which makes the meal into a banquet. But you, my dear, remind me of Minerva, and I cannot see why . . .’

The Duchesse grimaced mildly. ‘You cannot see why. My dear Etienne, what ideas are you putting into my head? There is one who would see very well why. My dear, she is your great friend; she is also mine. You know why we must have our little Venuses from the dressmakers, our Minervas from the bourgeoisie. She would not tolerate one of us occupying that place which she guards so jealously although she can no longer occupy it.’

‘It would be dangerous . . . very dangerous to lose her friendship.’

‘It is due to it, my dear brother, that you are where you are today.’

‘And where I intend to stay!’

He was silent for a while; then putting his arm about her he led her to a couch where they sat down; and still embracing her he said: ‘I have a plan. The people are restive, as you know, and something must be done with the greatest speed. They are saying, “The English are against us. The Prussians are against us; our friends are our old enemies the Austrians.” The people are losing heart becase they fear their enemies and do not trust their friends. I have an idea for a pact which I shall call the Family Compact.’

She nodded, her smile full of admiration. ‘You are a genius, my dear.’

He accepted the compliment lightly. He believed it no less than she did.

‘Have you realised that a certain section of Europe is ruled by the Bourbon family? France, Spain, Naples and Parma. In times of stress families should stand together. I propose now to show the people of France that, contrary to the opinions of those pessimists among them, they have many friends in Europe. They are saying we have only one ally. Only one ally! If I make this pact – and make it I will – I will say to them: “We have all the Bourbons of Europe as our friends. We stand together against all our enemies. One family. From Spain to Sicily I have but to beckon and they will come.” ’

‘And will they?’

Choiseul lifted his shoulders. ‘Our greatest need at the moment, sweet sister, is to pacify the people, to make them happy. One step at a time.’

She smiled. ‘I see. We have come a long way from the poverty of our childhood, brother.’

‘And we will go much farther . . . both of us, my dearest . . . you and I. Our dear friend will not live for ever. She cannot live for ever.’

‘And then?’

‘And then, and then . . .’ murmured Choiseul, ‘it may be that the King will not have to look for his goddesses so far from his Court, eh?’

‘But time is passing, Etienne.’

‘Time! What is time to us? We are immortal. I see no reason why you should not occupy the first place in the land. Others besides our dear friend cannot live for ever. I remember Madame de Maintenon.’

‘Etienne!’

Choiseul laid his hand lightly on his sister’s lips.

‘Silence, sweet one, for the moment. We can wait. We have learned to wait. Let us wait a little longer . . . only a little longer.’

‘Ambitious dreams, Etienne,’ she said.

‘Great honours, my sister, invariably begin as ambitious dreams.’

‘The two of us together, brother! Is there any limit to the heights we can climb?’

‘Only the summit is our limit, sister. Wait and see. The future is rosy for the Duc de Choiseul, and all the glory that shall ever be his he swears he will share with her whom he loves; beyond all others.’

There were occasions when it was necessary, greatly to the King’s regret, for him to visit Paris.

The people had now forgotten his brief return to favour when they thought him to be dying from the knife-thrust of Damiens. They did not call abuse at him as he rode their streets; they merely gave him sullen looks and silence. Indeed, such was his dignity that it was almost impossible to abuse him in his presence.

He sat in his carriage, erect, seemingly indifferent to the mood of his people.

Crowds gathered to see him pass, as they had ever done, and it was only when the carriage had rumbled on that the murmuring would break out.

As his carriage passed by the gardens of the Tuileries his eye was suddenly caught by a fair-haired child with her father, who was clearly an old soldier.

The girl was richly though by no means elegantly dressed, and her father was bending down to her. Louis could imagine the words he was saying to her. ‘See, there he is. There is the King.’

The girl’s beautiful blue eyes were wide with excitement. She pointed to the carriage. Louis leaned a little forward and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of her gesture.

He saw the glowing smile on her face.

A charming child, he thought. To see her has made the journey worthwhile.

She must be very young. He guessed she would be something under fourteen. Girls of that age seemed to him particularly delightful. They had a certain innocence which was lost later.

He wondered who she was, and thought how pleasant it would be to take her hands, embrace her and tell her that it made her King very happy to think that he had a subject such as she was.

On his return to Versailles, he sent for Le Bel.

‘I saw a charming child in the Tuileries gardens today,’ he said.

‘And Your Majesty wishes to make her acquaintance?’

‘She was such a pretty creature, but odiously dressed. Her gown was pink and she wore jewellery, obviously false. I should like to see a child as pretty as that well dressed. She pointed at the carriage. I should like to have such a pretty child taught how to behave.’

‘If your Majesty will tell me her name . . .’

‘I do not know her name. I but saw her as I passed the Tuileries.’

‘Sire, it will not be easy to find her if we do not know her name nor where she lives. There are many young girls who go to the Tuileries gardens.’

‘You give up too easily,’ said the King.

Le Bel sweated with apprehension. ‘Sire, I will search every street in Paris. If that child is to be found, I shall find her.’

‘In the meantime send for Sartines. We will ask his help.’

Le Bel was displeased. He knew that Sartines had discovered Mademoiselle de Romans, but he was annoyed that the Lieutenant of Police should take on duties which previously he had considered his own – to be shared of course with the othet valets de chambre.

When Sartines arrived, clearly delighted to be called on the King’s mission, Louis kept Le Bel with him while he explained what he expected from these two.

‘Monsieur Sartines,’ he said, ‘you are a Lieutenant of Police. You should be able to bring me a young girl whom I saw today in the gardens of the Tuileries.’

‘She shall be brought to you immediately, Sire,’ said Sartines.

‘When you find her,’ added the King, while Le Bel smiled sardonically.

‘Le Bel, I suspect, despairs of finding her,’ said the King.

Sartines smiled. ‘We of the police have our methods.’

‘As I thought,’ said the King. ‘Perhaps you can teach some of them to Le Bel.’

‘His Majesty saw the child with her father in the Tuileries gardens,’ said Le Bel. ‘She is fair-haired, blue-eyed, under fourteen and very beautiful. Her father is an old soldier. That is all the description we have. But I have no doubt, Monsieur, with your efficient police methods you will have little difficulty in finding such a child among the crowds of Paris.’

Sartines put his head on one side.

‘This young lady was not in a carriage, Sire?’

‘No, on foot,’ said the King.

‘And she was well dressed?’

‘In a hideous rose-coloured gown which fortunately could not disguise her grace. It was clearly a new gown.’

‘Then depend upon it,’ said Sartines, ‘if the family have no carriage they cannot be rich, and the young lady will wear the gown frequently on her journeys to the gardens. As she had no carriage it is very possible that she lives near the Tuileries gardens, for it is hardly likely that she would have walked far in this rose-coloured gown.’

The King laughed and laid one hand on Sartines’ shoulder, the other on Le Bel’s.

‘You see, Le Bel,’ he said, ‘how wise we were to call in the police. Go, my friends, work together. I do not wish to see my good friend Le Bel unhappy. Bring this child to me. Tell her parents that they will never regret putting her into my care.’

The valet de chambre and the Lieutenant of Police bowed themselves out and set about their task.

Sartines was smiling contentedly; finding girls for the King was a more profitable business than hunting criminals for the law.

‘The first one we’ll ask is the lemonade-seller on the terrace,’ said Sartines. ‘If this girl is brought often to the gardens, he will be more likely to know her than anyone else. He is an old friend of mine.’

The lemonade-seller did not seem very pleased to see his old friend Sartines.

He was obviously on the alert and had a look of guilt. Sartines was not proposing to worry him about whatever he might have on his conscience; he had come for information which the lemonade-man need not be afraid to give him.

‘Good day to you, my friend. What heat, eh! A drink of lemonade? That is exactly what we need on a day such as this.’

‘Exactly,’ said Le Bel.

They sat on the steps of the terrace and drank the lemonade which was served to them.

‘We want your help,’ Sartines began.

‘Monsieur,’ protested the lemonade-seller, ‘I have done nothing. I cannot think why the police will not leave me in peace.’

‘It is not about yourself that we wish to question you.’

‘It is about a certain young lady,’ said Le Bel.

‘Who is he?’ asked the lemonade-seller suspiciously – indicating Le Bel.

‘A gentleman of Versailles.’

The lemonade-seller grinned. He told himself that he was a member of the police more likely, dressed up to look different.

Le Bel said impatiently: ‘Have you noticed a young lady – a child almost – who was here yesterday with her father? She was dressed very well in pink. The father was an old soldier and they came to see the King drive by.’

The lemonade-seller screwed up his face. ‘What have they done?’ he asked.

‘Nothing for which they can be blamed.’

The man shook his head. ‘I’ve got my business to attend to. It does not include gaping at the crowds.’

‘But surely you must watch for customers?’

Sartines had taken some coins from his pocket, and jingled them significantly.

The lemonade-seller’s eyes glistened as he watched.

‘But how do I come into this?’ he asked.

‘You are not concerned in it,’ said Sartines. ‘You are merely giving us information which we ask, and for which we are prepared to pay.’

‘Well, I did notice her, so there! Who could help it in that dress? They bought some of my lemonade. They always do when they come by.’

‘And you know who they are?’

The man hesitated, and Sartines slipped the coins into his hand.

‘The father is Monsieur de Tiercelin,’ he said. ‘He thinks the world of that girl. So does Madame. They think no one is good enough to look at her.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sartines, and to Le Bel: ‘Come. It should not be difficult to find the home of Monsieur de Tiercelin which is close to the Tuileries.’

It was not difficult. In less than half an hour after the encounter with the lemonade-seller they were being received into the Tiercelin home.

‘Now,’ said Sartines, ‘it is your turn, Monsieur Le Bel.’

The task before him was a commonplace one to Le Bel. He relished it. He rarely encountered parents who were not overjoyed when they discovered his mission; and in any case a little persuasion, a little foresight of the glorious future which awaited their daughters soon made them amenable to suggestions.

Monsieur and Madame de Tiercelin had led them into a small parlour which was somewhat ornate and quite hideous in eyes accustomed to the exquisite taste of Versailles.

‘I will tell you quickly why I have come,’ said Le Bel. ‘I serve the King and come on his orders. His Majesty saw your daughter yesterday in the Tuileries gardens. He thought her charming and would like to make her acquaintance.’

The Tiercelins looked at each other. They were clearly not surprised. They thought their daughter the most beautiful girl in Paris. It might have been that for this reason she had been taken to see the King pass by.

Madame de Tiercelin said: ‘Our daughter is very young.’

‘How old is she?’ asked Le Bel.

‘Twelve years old.’

‘The King has offered to undertake her education for a few years.’

‘Educate her . . . as a Court lady!’

‘He will doubtless supervise her education himself.’

The parents looked at each other, their eyes gleaming.

‘Do you object to this offer which the King makes you? It is not a command, you know.’

Madame de Tiercelin looked at her husband and nodded her approval.

‘Our daughter is a very lovely child,’ began Monsieur de Tiercelin. ‘Already she has offers of marriage . . .’

‘If you think that you can provide a more worthy husband for your daughter than the King eventually would, then you must make your own choice. His Majesty does not wish to cause you any unhappiness in this matter.’ Le Bel turned to Sartines. ‘Come, Monsieur, I see that Monsieur and Madame de Tiercelin have not heard of the great good fortune which can befall those in whom His Majesty takes a paternal interest. We have no instructions to inform them of this. We will take our leave.’

Madame de Tiercelin was glaring at her husband as though she considered him a fool.

‘Wait, Messieurs,’ she said.

Then Le Bel and Sartines knew that the case of Mademoiselle de Tiercelin was going to be as simple as most others.

Perhaps it was because Madeleine de Romans was pregnant – and the King always wished to avoid pregnant women – that he gave so much attention to Mademoiselle de Tiercelin.

She came to Versailles itself – a pert little creature, very lovely indeed to look at, divested of her hideous pink dress and wearing the garments which had been chosen for her.

She had been completely spoiled by her family, and therefore had little respect for the King. Fortunately for little Mademoiselle de Tiercelin he was in the mood to enjoy this.

The beautiful Mademoiselle de Romans was a dignified creature, and although she had never learned the etiquette of the nobility, a little tuition – as in the case of Madame de Pompadour – would quickly have put her at ease in Court circles. The King had no intention of marrying off his statuesque mistress; he was merely seeking a little diversion while she was indisposed and Mademoiselle de Tiercelin supplied that adequately.

Louis found the child so amusing that he said he himself would undertake her education for a while. This he did, teaching her many lessons in the petits appartements, even occasionally taking a meal with her.

It was an experience he had never had before, and it amused him to know that the Dauphin was even more shocked than usual.

But when Mademoiselle de Romans’ boy was born he felt a wish to spend more time in her company and grew very fond of the child who resembled his ‘Belle Madeleine’.

As for Madeleine de Romans, she was completely happy. She adored her little son and had a great affection for the King. She had not been a demanding woman when she had only herself to consider, but now that she had this beautiful boy she was determined to win for him the highest honours.

When the King came to visit her, while she was in bed with the child, he expressed his great pleasure to see her recovered from her ordeal and showed a further interest in the boy.

‘I am so happy,’ she told him; ‘there is only one thing I need to make me perfectly so.’

She looked so beautiful, with her black hair spread about her on the pillows, that Louis could not prevent himself from telling her passionately: ‘If it is in my power to grant it, I will do so.’

‘It is in your power,’ she told him.

‘Then you have attained perfect happiness.’

‘Our son is shortly to be baptised,’ she said. ‘I wish him to be known by the name of Bourbon.’

Louis hesitated. But he had given his word and, although he was quite capable of breaking a promise to his ministers, he found it very difficult to do so in the case of an exceptionally beautiful woman who pleaded so charmingly.

He stooped and kissed her.

‘Take care,’ he said, ‘of Monsieur de Bourbon.’

Her radiant smile was reward enough, he decided; and he continued to think of her after he left her.

Thus he was in no mood for petulant Mademoiselle de Tiercelin. A delightful child, he thought, but pert, far too pert. She needed discipline, which he found it hard to administer.

He sent for Le Bel when he returned to Versailles.

‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that we promised Monsieur and Madame de Tiercelin that we would educate their daughter in a manner to fit her for the station she might one day be called upon to occupy.’

‘We did, Sire.’

‘Then pray make arrangements for her to leave for a convent where she will receive that education.’

‘It shall be done, Sire,’ said Le Bel.

The Court now knew that the King had temporarily tired of his naughty little playmate and had returned to the more dignified liaison with the statuesque Mademoiselle de Romans.

The dreams of Madeleine de Romans were centred in the boy with those dark blue eyes which, declared everyone who saw him, proclaimed him the son of the King.

She refused to let any of her servants bathe or dress him. He slept in her room and she herself fed him. She was terrified of allowing anyone to touch him, for how could any but herself understand how precious he was!

As she suckled him she would imagine the glories which would come to him. He had been baptised in the name of Bourbon, so she would induce the King to acknowledge him publicly as his natural son. In time she would persuade the King to legitimise him. Why should he not? Had not Louis Quatorze legitimised some of his illegitimate sons?

He would become a Comte, a Duc. He would have a safe place at Court. He would grow up so handsome that everyone would love him.

‘My little one,’ she murmured, ‘your fortune is made. One day you will be one of the great men of France . . .’ She amended that. ‘One day you will be the greatest man in France.’

She was so sure that her plans would materialise that she was determined he should be treated from the very beginning of his life as a royal Bourbon.

All her servants must follow her example and call the child Highness. Everyone must bow before approaching him, and as soon as he was old enough she took him driving in the Bois. He rode alone in the carriage, while she sat in the front with the driver, as a governess might have sat. She wished the world to know that she, his mother, was far beneath him socially.

This caused a great deal of comment and, as it was known that the boy had been baptised in the name of Bourbon, rumours were soon in circulation that the King had promised Mademoiselle de Romans to acknowledge her child as his son.

Madame du Hausset heard this news and hastened to bring it to the Marquise.

‘It is a dangerous situation, Madame,’ she pointed out.

The Marquise was wistful. If only she had borne Louis a child such as this one was reputed to be!

‘It has usually been his custom to marry them off when they become pregnant,’ mused the Marquise.

‘Yes, Madame. There can be no doubt that his feelings for this one are different.’

‘It is a pity. What of this young Tiercelin?’

‘She is now attending a school in Paris, Madame. She was sent there soon after the child was born.’

‘What is the child like? Is he as beautiful as his mother?’

‘He is said to be very handsome, Madame, with a striking resemblance to His Majesty. Mademoiselle de Romans is so proud of him that she takes him to the Bois every afternoon and suckles him in public.’

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.’

She felt consciousness coming back. She understood. The Marquise had done this. Oh, she had been a fool . . . a fool to boast of what was to be hers and the boy’s. How could she have so far forgotten the obvious feelings of the Marquise! Powerful ministers had fallen before this woman; yet she, who was a simple woman from Grenoble, had set herself against her.

She had not wished to do that. She would never have attempted to oust the Marquise from the unique position she occupied at Court.

All she had asked for was recognition for her son.

And now . . . exile.

The two men who stood over her felt compassion for her. She was so beautiful, and because she was tall and would have seemed so composed, so able to take care of herself, she seemed the more pitiable.

‘Madame,’ one of them murmured, ‘it is a very pleasant convent. They’ll look after you well there.’

‘But,’ she began, ‘my son . . .’

‘Come, Madame.’ The guards exchanged glances. ‘We ought to be going. Orders are for us to conduct you there. We have a carriage waiting.’

‘Let me write a reply to the King.’

‘Our orders are to take you there at once.’

‘I shall write to him from there.’

‘That’s right,’ soothed one of the guards.

‘I will go upstairs and get my son.’

‘Look here, Madame,’ said one of them.

But she had slipped past them and run up the stairs. They followed her as though they feared to let her out of their sight.

Two of her servants were in the nursery; they stared at her, with blank expressions which, while they told her nothing, filled her with a sudden fear which was so intense that she could not face it.

She ran to the cradle. It was empty.

‘My son . . .’ she cried. ‘My baby . . .’

The guards were at her side. ‘Madame,’ said one of them, taking her arm gently, ‘you couldn’t take the little boy to the convent, you know.’

‘Where is my son . . . where . . .where . . . where?’

‘Look, Madame, he is being taken great care of. We can assure you of that.’

‘I want him,’ she sobbed. ‘I want my baby.’

The guards merely shook their heads and lowered their eyes. They were ashamed of the tears they feared they would shed.

But Mademoiselle de Romans would not have seen them; she had flung herself down beside the cradle and was crying for her baby.