‘Do the chamberlains usually go to bed at eleven o’clock in the Château de Chantilly?’
‘We have been hunting all day,’ the footman stammered.
‘That’s right,’ Canolles said to himself. ‘They do need time to dress someone up as a chamberlain.’
Then, aloud, he said: ‘Very well, go on, I’ll wait.’
The footman left at the double to spread the alarm through the château, where Pompée, scared by his own dreadful encounter, had just caused indescribable panic.
Canolles was left alone, listening and watching.
He could hear people running around rooms and along corridors. He saw, by the light of fading lamps, men armed with muskets, taking up positions on the stairs. Finally, he was aware of a general and threatening murmur replacing the amazed silence that had reigned throughout the château a moment earlier.
Canolles picked up his whistle and went over to a window, through which he could see, as a dark, cloudy mass against the night sky, the crests of the tall trees beneath which he had stationed the two hundred men he had brought with him.
‘No,’ he thought. ‘That would lead us directly into battle and that’s not what I need. Better to wait. The worst that can happen if I wait is for me to be killed, while if I move too soon, I might lose her.’
He had just thought this to himself, when a door opened and a new figure appeared.
‘The princess cannot be seen,’ the man said, so quickly that he did not even have time to greet the baron. ‘She is in bed and has forbidden anyone at all to enter her room.’
‘Who are you?’ said Canolles, looking the strange figure up and down. ‘And who made you insolent enough to speak to a gentleman with your hat on?’
With the end of his cane, he knocked off the other man’s hat.
‘Monsieur!’ said the man, proudly taking a step backwards.
‘I asked you who you are,’ said Canolles.
‘I am, as you can see…’ said the man. ‘As you can see by my uniform, captain of Her Highness’s guard.’
Canolles smiled. He had had time to size up the man in front of him and realized that he was dealing with some cellarer with a belly as round as his bottles, some ruddy Vatel4 squeezed into an officer’s jerkin, which either lack of time or too much belly had prevented him from fully lacing up.
‘Very good, Captain of the Guard,’ said Canolles. ‘Pick up your hat and answer me.’
The captain carried out the first of these requests like a man who has studied that fine axiom of military discipline: to learn how to command, one must know how to obey.
‘Captain of the Guard!’ said Canolles. ‘Dammit! That’s a fine rank.’
‘Yes, Monsieur. Rather fine. So what?’ said the man, standing up.
‘Don’t puff yourself up too much, Captain,’ said Canolles. ‘Or else you’ll break your last lace and end up with your breeches round your ankles, which would be most unbecoming.’
‘So, tell me, Monsieur, who are you yourself?’ the alleged captain asked, in a question of his own.
‘I shall copy the example of good manners that you have shown me, Monsieur, and answer your question as you have mine. I am a captain in Navailles, and I am here in the name of the king as an ambassador who may assume the character of a peaceful envoy or a violent one. I shall resort to whichever of these is appropriate, according to whether His Majesty’s orders are obeyed or not.’
‘Violent, Monsieur?’ the false captain exclaimed. ‘You may be violent?’
‘Very violent, I warn you.’
‘Even in the presence of Her Highness?’
‘Why not? Her Highness is only the first among His Majesty’s subjects.’
‘Do not attempt to use force, Monsieur. I have fifty men at arms who are ready to avenge Her Highness’s honour.’
Canolles did not want to mention that these fifty men were as many lackeys and skivvies, worthy of serving under such a commander, and that, as far as the princess’s honour was concerned, it was at that moment hastening with her along the roads to Bordeaux. He contented himself by responding with the composure that is more intimidating than a threat, usual among brave men, accustomed to danger: ‘If you have fifty men at arms, Captain, I have two hundred soldiers who are the advance force of a royal army. Do you intend to rebel openly against His Majesty?’
‘No, Monsieur, no!’ the fat man quickly replied, much humiliated. ‘Heaven forfend! But I beg you to bear witness that I only gave in to force.’
‘That is the least I can do for a colleague.’
‘In that case, I shall take you to the Dowager Princess, who is not yet asleep.’
Canolles did not need to think to realize the terrible danger presented by this trap, but he soon escaped from it thanks to the absolute authority invested in him.
‘I have no orders to see the Dowager Princess, but Her Highness, the young princess.’
The captain of the guard bowed his head again, got his legs moving in a backward direction, dragged his long sword across the wooden floor and majestically proceeded once more through the door between two sentries who had been trembling throughout the scene: the announced arrival of two hundred men had nearly driven them to abandon their post, so little were they inclined to become faithful martyrs in the sack of Chantilly.
Ten minutes later, the captain, followed by two guards, returned and with endless ceremonial fetched Canolles to take him to the princess, into whose room he was ushered without any further delay.
Canolles recognized the apartment, the furniture, the bed and even the scent of the room. But he looked in vain for two things: the portrait of the real princess, which he had noticed on his first visit and which had given him the first hint of the trick that they were trying to play on him, and the face of the false princess, for whom he had just made such a great sacrifice. The portrait had been taken away, and, as a somewhat late precaution, no doubt consequent on the first one, the face of the person in the bed was turned towards the canopy, in a show of royal impertinence.
Two women were standing near her, by the canopy.
The baron would willingly have overlooked this lack of consideration, but since he was afraid that some new substitution might allow Madame de Cambes to escape as the princess had done, his hair rose in terror on his head, and he decided immediately to make sure of the identity of the person in the bed by calling on the supreme power accorded to him by his mission.
‘Madame,’ he said, giving a deep bow. ‘I beg Your Highness’s forgiveness for presenting myself to her in this manner, especially after I gave my word that I would wait for your orders, but I have just heard a great deal of noise in the château and…’
The person in the bed shuddered, but did not answer. Canolles looked for some sign that might reassure him that the woman before him was indeed the one he was looking for, but in the midst of the clouds of lace and the soft thickness of the eiderdowns and curtains, it was impossible to distinguish anything except the shape of a person lying down.
‘And I owe it to myself,’ Canolles went on, ‘to ensure that this bed still contains the same person with whom I had the honour to speak for half an hour.’
This time, it was not a simple shudder, but a real start of terror. Canolles observed the movement and was alarmed by it.
‘If she has deceived me,’ he thought, ‘and if, despite the solemn promise that she gave, she has fled, I shall leave this château, mount my horse, take the head of my two hundred men and catch up with the fugitives, even if I have to set fire to thirty villages to light my way.’
He waited for a moment longer, but the person in the bed did not reply or turn round. It was evident that she wished to gain time.
‘Madame,’ Canolles said finally, with an impatience that he no longer had the strength to disguise, ‘I beg Your Highness to remember that I am the king’s envoy, and it is in the king’s name that I demand the honour of looking at Your Highness’s face.’
‘This inquisitio
n is unbearable,’ said a trembling voice which sent a shudder through the young officer, for he recognized a tone that no other voice could imitate. ‘If, as you say, it is the king who is forcing you to behave in this way, this is because the king, who is only a child, has not yet learned the duties of a gentleman. To force a woman to show her face is to subject her to the same insult as if one tore off her mask.’
‘Madame, there is a phrase before which ladies bow when it comes from kings, and kings when it comes from fate: it must be.’
‘Very well, since it must be,’ said the young woman. ‘And since I am alone and defenceless against the orders of the king and the demands of his messenger, I obey. Look at me, Monsieur.’
At this, a brusque movement thrust aside the rampart of pillows, blankets and lace behind which the beautiful prisoner was besieged, and through this improvised breach in the walls, blushing with modesty rather than indignation, appeared the blonde hair and delightful face announced by the voice. With the swift glance of a man accustomed to take in situations that were, if not similar, at least equivalent, Canolles was reassured to find that it was not anger that kept those eyes lowered beneath their golden lashes and caused that white hand to tremble against the pearly neck as it held back the restless waves of hair and the perfumed cambric of the sheets.
The false princess held the pose for an instant, wishing it to seem threatening, though it expressed only annoyance, while Canolles looked at her, delightedly breathing in her scent and restraining with both hands the beating of his joyful heart.
‘Well, Monsieur,’ said the beautiful victim after a few seconds. ‘Am I humiliated enough? Have you examined me at your leisure? Your triumph is complete, is it not? So, now be a generous victor and leave me!’
‘I should like to do so, Madame, but I must fulfil my instructions to the end. So far I have only accomplished the part of my mission that concerns Your Highness. But it is not enough to have seen you; I must now see the Duke d’Enghien.’
At these words, spoken in the tone of a man who knows that he has the right to command and who wishes to be obeyed, there was a fearful silence. The false princess rose up, leaning on her hand, and turned on Canolles one of those looks that only she seemed capable of giving, so much was contained in it. It said: Have you recognized me? Do you know who I really am? And if you do, spare me, forgive me, you are the stronger; have pity on me!
Canolles understood everything that was implied by the look, but hardened his heart against its seductive eloquence and replied to the look in words: ‘Impossible, Madame. My order is clear.’
‘Then let everything be done as you wish, Monsieur, since you make no concession to my situation or my rank. Go! These ladies will conduct you to my son, the prince.’
‘Could not these ladies, instead of conducting me to the prince, bring him to you, Madame?’ Canolles said. ‘That, it seems to me, would be infinitely preferable.’
‘Why, Monsieur?’ asked the false princess, clearly more worried by this latest request than she had been by any other.
‘Because, while they are away, I shall inform Your Highness of a part of my mission that I can only share with her alone.’
‘With me alone?’
‘With you alone,’ Canolles replied, giving a deeper bow than any he had offered her so far.
This time, the princess’s face, which had successively expressed dignity, then supplication, and supplication followed by anxiety, now stared at Canolles with the intensity of terror.
‘What is it about this tête-à-tête that you apparently find so terrifying, Madame?’ Canolles asked. ‘Are you not a princess and I a gentleman?’
‘You are right, Monsieur, and I am wrong to be afraid. Yes, although this is the first time that I have the pleasure of seeing you, I have heard of your decency and honesty. Go and fetch the Duke d’Enghien, ladies, and come back here with him.’
The two women left the canopy of the bed, went across to the door and turned round once more to confirm that this order was indeed correct; then, on a sign confirming their mistress’s words, went out.
Canolles watched them until they had closed the door behind them. Then he turned eyes shining with joy back on the princess.
‘Come now,’ she said, sitting up and folding her arms. ‘Come now, Monsieur de Canolles, why are you persecuting me?’
As she said this, she looked at the young officer, not with the haughty look of a princess that she had tried on him, unsuccessfully, but on the contrary with such a touching and meaningful expression that all the charming details of their first interview, all the intoxicating events of the journey and, finally, all the memories of his burgeoning love welled up, wrapping the baron’s heart in a kind of balmy mist.
‘Madame,’ he said, taking a step towards the bed. ‘The person against whom I am proceeding in the name of the law is Madame de Condé, and not you, who are not the princess.’
The woman to whom these words were addressed gave a little cry, went very pale and put a hand to her heart, exclaiming: ‘What do you mean, Monsieur? So who do you think I am?’
‘Oh, as far as that is concerned,’ Canolles replied, ‘I should be at some pains to describe it, because I should almost swear that you are the most charming viscount, were it not that you are the most adorable viscountess.’
‘Monsieur!’ said the false princess, hoping that a reminder of her dignity would have some effect on Canolles. ‘I can only understand one thing out of everything that you are saying to me, which is that you are lacking in respect for me. You are insulting me!’
‘One is not lacking in respect for God, Madame, because one adores him,’ Canolles replied. ‘One does not insult the angels by falling on one’s knees before them.’
At that, he leant forward as though to kneel.
‘Monsieur,’ the viscountess said hastily, stopping him. ‘The Princess de Condé cannot tolerate…’
‘The Princess de Condé is at this moment hurrying along on a fine horse, side by side with Monsieur Vialas, her groom, Monsieur Lenet, her counsellor, with her gentlemen, her captains… in short, with her whole household, on the Bordeaux road, and she has nothing to do with what is at present occurring between the Baron de Canolles and the Viscount, or Viscountess de Cambes.’
‘But what are you telling me, Monsieur? Are you mad?’
‘No, Madame, I am saying only what I have seen and telling you only what I have heard.’
‘Well, then, if you have seen and heard what you say, your mission must be over.’
‘Do you think so? Am I then to go back to Paris and admit to the queen that, rather than cause displeasure to a woman whom I love – I am not naming anyone, Madame, so don’t arm your eyes with anger – I disobeyed her orders, allowed her enemy to flee, closed my eyes to what I was seeing, and in the end betrayed – yes, betrayed – the cause of my king.’
The viscountess seemed touched and looked at the baron with something like compassion.
‘Don’t you have the best excuse of all,’ she said, ‘the excuse of impossibility? Could you alone have arrested the princess’s large escort? Were you required to fight fifty men on your own?’
‘I was not on my own, Madame,’ Canolles said, shaking his head. ‘I have and I still have, in the wood, fifty yards away from us, two hundred soldiers, whom I can assemble and call to me with a single blast of the whistle. It would have been easy for me to stop the princess, and it was she, in fact, who could not have resisted. Then even had my escort been weaker than hers, I could still have fought, I could still have died fighting. It would have been as easy for me,’ the young man went on, bending further and further towards her, ‘as it would be sweet for me to touch this hand, if I dared to do it.’
The hand at which the baron was staring with such burning eyes, the fine, white, rounded hand, this intelligent hand had fallen outside the bed and was throbbing at every word the young man spoke. The viscountess herself, blinded by the electricity of love, the effect of whic
h she had already felt in the little inn at Jaulnay, did not recall that she should remove the hand that had offered Canolles such a nice point of comparison. So she left it there, and the young man, slipping to his knees, pressed his mouth with voluptuous timidity on the hand, which, as soon as his lips touched it, was withdrawn as though it had been burnt by a red-hot iron.
‘Thank you, Monsieur de Canolles,’ the young woman said. ‘Thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have done for me. Believe me, I shall never forget it. But now double the value of the service you have done for me by understanding my position and leaving me. Must we not part, now that your task is over?’
This ‘we’, spoken with such a sweet intonation that it seemed to contain a hint of regret, caused the most secret chords in Canolles’s heart to ache: a feeling of pain, indeed, is almost always to be found somewhere in the profoundest joy.
‘I shall obey, Madame,’ he said. ‘But I might just point out – not in any refusal to obey, but to spare you any possible regret – that by obeying you, I shall be destroying myself. As soon as I admit my fault and do not appear to have been taken in by your deceit, I become the victim of my leniency… I shall be declared a traitor, imprisoned… and perhaps executed. Quite simple: I am a traitor.’
Claire gave a cry and this time took Canolles’s hand herself, though she let it go at once, with a charming show of embarrassment.
‘So what are we going to do?’
The young man’s heart swelled: this happy we was definitely becoming Madame de Cambes’s favourite expression.
‘Destroy you! You who are so good and so generous,’ she went on. ‘I, destroy you – never! Oh, how can I save you? Tell me! Tell me!’
‘You must allow me, Madame, to play my part to the end. As I say, I must appear to be deceived by you, and I must report to Monsieur de Mazarin what I can see, not what I know.’
‘Yes, but if he knew that it was for me that you were doing all this, if he were to learn that we have already met and that you have already seen me, I am the one who would be lost. Think of that!’
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