Habited in his customary morning attire, the king sallied forth, and was soon shaping his rapid course across the heath, in the same direction as on the previous day, and with the full intention of paying another visit to the farm-house; when, on gaining the summit of the hill, he perceived a damsel, whom he felt certain could be no other than the fair object of his search. That she was looking out for him, seemed equally clear; for, on beholding him, she hastened to meet him.
How fresh and beautiful she looked on that bright morning! How sylph-like was her figure as she tripped along! And how charmingly her dark tresses sported in the breeze!
“Would Lely were with me now,” thought Charles, as he gazed at her rapturously. “He would be ravished by her appearance.”
“May I flatter myself that you are looking out for me, sweetheart?” he said, as he bade her good-morrow. “I hope so; but you will guess that I was on my way to your dwelling. I bring you good news. I have seen Sir Peter Lely, and have easily prevailed on him to paint your picture. He will pay you a visit to day.”
“It must not be,” she replied. “My father will not permit it.”
“Your father is an obstinate churl,” cried the king. “He knows not what he refuses. I will soon bring him to reason.”
“You must not come to our cottage again, sir; indeed, you must not,” she rejoined. “I have been on the watch since daybreak to tell you this. My father was very angry with me when you left, and will not allow me to see you again.”
“How amiable of you to meet me thus!” he cried. “But I must have your picture painted, in spite of him. If Lely is not to be allowed to come to you, you must go to him. The description I have given him of you has made him all eagerness to place you in his gallery. He is lodged with the king at Mount Sion, and, of course, has his own painting-room, where he will be at work at his easel during the greater part of the day. You will have nothing to do but ask for his majesty’s valet, Chiffinch — you will remember the name, Chiffinch — and he will conduct you at once to Sir Peter Lely’s room. Conceal your fair features with a hood, if you fear attracting too much notice. I will make all preparations for you. At what hour may Sir Peter expect your visit?”
“Much as I should like to have my portrait painted by him, I cannot, dare not come,” she rejoined.
“Nay, I have promised Sir Peter that you will sit to him, and I should be grieved to disappoint him,” said Charles, in his most persuasive accents.
“You tempt me strongly,” she cried, “but I must resist.”
“I will take no refusal,” urged the king. “You are throwing away a chance that falls to the lot of few. Your beauty will bloom forever on Lely’s canvas.”
Her cheek colored, and her black eyes flashed with pride. Charles saw she was yielding, and again urged her.
“I will come at noon,” she murmured.
“Chiffinch shall be in waiting for you. He is discretion itself. Make no change in your costume, I entreat — you cannot improve it.”
“You think not?” she remarked, archly. “That is fortunate, for I could not make a change without exciting my father’s suspicions. But I must not stay here a moment longer, or I shall be missed, and then it will be impossible for me to get out. Adieu!”
And she speeded away.
Charles gazed after her as long as she continued in sight, lost in admiration of her graceful movements, and then moved off in an opposite direction.
He had just reached Bishop’s Down, and was about to proceed to the cold baths, then very much frequented, when he perceived Talbot Harland, mounting the side of the heath, and called to him. The young man immediately rode towards him.
“You promised me good news this evening,” cried the king. “Have you been successful? Have you captured the robbers? I fear not, from your looks.”
“I cannot discover any traces of them,” rejoined Talbot. “I have been all round the country, as the jaded state of my horse will prove to your majesty, but have learnt nothing. This Claude Duval must have dealings with the devil, I think, to disappear in this fashion. I am now on my way to Farmer Oldacre’s cottage, to see whether he can aid me in my quest.”
“Don’t go near him!” cried the king. “The fellow is an impracticable savage, and will not allow his fair daughter to have her portrait painted by Lely. But it shall be done in spite of him. She is coming secretly to Mount Sion at noon.”
“Then I have nothing further to do in the matter,” observed Talbot.
“Nothing. Chiffinch will manage it all. Go to your tent, and get an hour’s repose — you need it.”
Talbot thanked his majesty, and rode towards the encampment on Rusthall Common, while the king walked on to the baths, and thoroughly refreshed himself in the clearest and coldest water imaginable, collected in a rocky basin.
CHAPTER XVI
SIR PETER LELY’S STUDIO
Sir Peter Lely was in the room which had been hastily prepared for him as a studio. His canvas was upon the easel, and he was employed in mixing the colors on his palette. It was not yet noon, so he proceeded very deliberately with his task, laying in plenty of black, as he knew he should require a good deal of that color.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Chiffinch, having ushered in a damsel, whose features were concealed by a loo mask, immediately retired. Lely quickly arose, and received his fair visitor with a courtier-like bow.
But a slight misgiving crossed him as he regarded her. He had been led by the king to expect a simple costume, but the attire of the new-comer was rich, and she wore a small black hat with a crimson plume, as was then the fashion with the queen’s maids of honor. Besides, her tresses were blonde.
When she took off her mask, he found it was Dorinda Neville.
“You do not seem to expect me, Sir Peter,” she said, noticing his embarrassment. “I understood from Mr. Talbot Harland that it is his majesty’s wish that I should sit to you, and I have come accordingly.”
“Nothing could gratify me more than to paint Miss Neville,” replied Lely, bowing; “but I have not yet received his majesty’s instructions to that effect. And I fancy there must be some mistake in regard to the hour.”
“It will be unpardonable in Mr. Harland if he has led me into an error,” cried Dorinda. “I entreat you to say nothing about it, Sir Peter, or I shall be laughed at.”
“You may entirely depend upon me, Miss Neville,” replied Lely. “But I trust I shall still receive his majesty’s commands.”
At this moment Chiffinch opened the door, and said, “Another lady is without, Sir Peter.”
“Great heavens, if I am seen, there will be no end of ridicule!” cried Dorinda.
And she fled behind the screen.
Scarcely had she disappeared, when the second lady was ushered into the room, and was received by the painter with a low bow.
She, too, wore a loo mask, and, in one or two particulars, answered the king’s description better than the first comer. Clearly, she was a brunette. Her tresses were black, and the eyes that shone through the loopholes of her mask were of the same hue.
But her attire was even richer than that of Dorinda, and of the last French mode. The tournure could not be that of an Englishwoman, and Lely felt no surprise, though he experienced some uneasiness, when she disclosed the features of Louise de Quéroualle.
“Do not let me interrupt you, Sir Peter,” said Louise, addressing him in French. “Pray, proceed with your task. I know you have a charming model — she is behind that screen — pray, let her come forth.”
Lely in vain protested that no one was there.
“You cannot deceive me, Sir Peter,” continued Louise, whose accents and sparkling eyes betrayed her jealous rage. “I know you are going to paint a jeune paysanne for the king. She is there; I want to see her; — I will see her!”
“Parole d’honneur, mademoiselle; there is no paysanne behind the screen,” said Lely.
“Who is it, then? I insist on knowing,” cried Louise.
> “Without the lady’s permission, I cannot satisfy you,” rejoined the painter.
““I,” cried Dorinda, stepping forth.
“Miss Neville!” exclaimed Louise, in astonishment.
“Yes. I have been brought here on a foolish errand, and am only anxious to make my escape.”
Any attempt of the kind was, however, frustrated by Chiffinch, who came in, looking grave and imperturbable as ever, and said, “A third lady is without, Sir Peter.”
“Ah! la voila!” cried Louise.
“Diable! this no doubt is the right one!” muttered the painter.
Before the new-comer could be ushered in, both Lely’s visitors had disappeared behind the screen.
Chiffinch immediately retired, but did not quite close the door after him.
Sir Peter bowed profoundly as before, though feeling certain it was the fair peasant. As she threw back her hood, he was electrified by her beauty; while Louise, who was stealing a glance at her from the corner of the screen, was equally amazed.
Anxious to remove the lovely girl’s timidity, Sir Peter addressed a few encouraging words to her, and told her how delighted he was to have her for a model.
“I am afraid you can make nothing of me, Sir Peter,” she remarked, with a smile.
“If I do you justice, his majesty will have the best portrait I have yet painted,” replied Lely, gallantly.
“Then the portrait is to be for the king?” she cried.
“Certainly, I only paint for his majesty,” said Lely, hoping he had not committed an indiscretion.
He then led her towards the easel, and begged her to assume a simple and unconstrained attitude.
“I want to take you just as you are,” he said. “That will do admirably; if I can only catch that charming expression before it flits away, I shall have no further difficulty.’’
And, sitting down, he seized his palette and brush, and set £ to work with an ardor that showed how strongly he was excited.
So engrossed was he, that he entirely forgot there were other persons in the room except himself and his lovely model.
Louise remained quiet for a short time, hoping some observations would be made; but not a word being uttered, she did not like to move.
At last, she issued from her retreat, and Dorinda followed her. Violet was surprised, and not a little startled, by their sudden appearance.
“Upon my word, mademoiselle, you will make an extremely pretty picture!” cried Louise, regarding her with a very spiteful expression.
Quickly recovering herself, Violet looked at her, and said, “If I am not mistaken, you are Mademoiselle de Quéroualle?”
“Ah, you know me!” cried Louise. “You are not so simple as you pretend.”
“I have never seen you before, but I have heard of you,” rejoined Violet. Then, turning to Dorinda, she added, “You, I am sure, are Miss Neville. I have likewise heard of you.”
“Sir Peter must have whispered our names in your ear,” remarked Dorinda, smiling.
“I was really not thinking of you,” observed Lely, testily. “And you have robbed me of the most charming expression—”
“Oh! it will come again,” cried Louise. “This artless creature has always a simple look at command.”
Violet made no rejoinder, but her cheeks flushed with indignation, and Sir Peter called out to Louise, “Accept my thanks, mademoiselle. You have caused her to summon up the liveliest expression of scorn I ever beheld. Ah! if I could only paint you both as you are now! What a picture it would be! How it would enchant his majesty!”
“I would not be associated with her for worlds,” exclaimed Louise. “Come, Miss Neville. We will no longer interrupt Sir Peter in his pleasing task.”
They were moving towards the door, when their departure was arrested by the king.
No doubt, his majesty felt some little embarrassment at finding them in the room,’ but he was too much master of himself to show it.
“What means this invasion of Sir Peter’s studio?” he cried.
“Mr. Talbot Harland must explain my presence here, sire,” replied Dorinda.
“And mine can be explained by Bellegarde,” added Louise.
“The explanations shall be given at once,” cried the king. “Luckily, they are both in the ante-chamber. What, ho! Chiffinch! Bid the Count de Bellegarde and Mr. Harland come in.”
“It will be impossible for me to proceed with the portrait, if we are to have a scene,” groaned Lely.
At this moment, the two persons who had been summoned were ushered in by Chiffinch. Talbot looked somewhat confused, but Bellegarde appeared wholly free from embarrassment.
On the entrance of the latter, Charles noted that Violet cast down her eyes and avoided the count’s regards.
“Harkye, gentlemen,” cried the king. “Both of you must have known that Sir Peter Lely was particularly engaged at this hour, and yet each sends a lady to interrupt him. Is it a jest?”
“On my part, yes, sire,” replied Talbot. “I avow the truth, and throw myself on your good-nature for forgiveness.”
“But you will not readily obtain mine, even if his majesty forgives you,” said Dorinda. “You have made me supremely ridiculous.”
“What excuse have you to offer, count?” demanded Charles. “Your offence is the worst of the two.”
“My explanation might not appear satisfactory to your majesty, so I will not venture to offer it — especially in the presence of Mademoiselle de Quéroualle,” rejoined Bellegarde.
Before the king could make any reply, Violet had approached him.
“I beseech your majesty to let me go,” she said. “I cannot endure the situation in which I am placed.”
Charles might have detained her, but Louise approached on the other side, and whispered, “If her portrait is painted, I shall leave with the Duchess of Orleans.”
Forced by this threat to yield, the king called the Count de Bellegarde to him.
“You are the contriver of this mischief, count,” he said. “Set it right as far as you can.”
“What am I to do, in heaven’s name! sire?” inquired Bellegarde.
“Take me hence!” cried Violet. “That is all I ask!”
Bellegarde consulted the king by a look; and, receiving permission, offered her his hand, and conducted her out of the room.
Talbot would have paid a similar attention to Dorinda, as she followed, but she turned disdainfully from him.
“So, my day is lost!” exclaimed Lely, in despair.
“No; you shall have a seance from me,” rejoined Louise. “Use the same canvas. I would have every trace of that odious paysanne obliterated. You will not see her again? Promise me that!” she added, to the king.
Of course, Charles gave the promise.
CHAPTER XVII
THE DENOUEMENT TO THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND’S ADVENTURE
Next day the king sent Chiffinch to the farmhouse to make inquiries, bidding him use the utmost caution. The discreet valet brought back the very unsatisfactory intelligence that the fair damsel had been taken away by her father — whither, could not be ascertained, as the house was left to the care of a deaf and stupid old countrywoman, who had evidently been instructed to answer no questions.
This was vexatious; but Charles persuaded himself that he should easily discover Violet’s retreat. Bellegarde, he felt sure, must be acquainted with it; but the difficulty was, how to extract the information from him.
The count’s movements were watched by Chiffinch; but nothing was gained by the proceeding. Bellegarde seemed devoted to play. He left off dancing, and sat all night at the basset-table. During the day he played at hazard. Fortune favored him, and he won large sums from Sir Charles Lyttleton, the beau Sidney, Lord Taafe, and others.
At her royal brother’s earnest entreaty, the Duchess of Orleans postponed her departure for three days. Charles was really grieved to part with her; and a presentiment crossed him, which was unhappily realized, that they should
meet no more.
The Count de Bellegarde attended her highness to Dover, but did not embark with her. Mademoiselle de Quéroualle was left behind, having been appointed maid of honor to the queen.
It may now be necessary to inquire whether Claude Duval, or any of his band, had been captured. All search for them had been fruitless. The occurrences were treated as a jest, and formed the theme of some very diverting ballads, composed by the Duke of Buckingham and Sir Charles Sedley, which caused infinite amusement to the Merry Monarch and his court.
The Duchess of Cleveland did not relish the jests made at her expense. A most unexpected incident, however, occurred, which restored her grace to perfect good humor.
On the eve of the departure for France of the duchess, a farewell entertainment of extraordinary splendor was given at Somerhill. Though pressed to dance by Lady Muskerry, the Count de Bellegarde, who was in a famous run of good luck, would not quit the basset-table.
The Duchess of Cleveland envied his success; but not being able to participate in it, got up in disgust. When she entered her carriage, what was her surprise to find three bags of money on the seat!
None of her servants could tell who had placed them there. But to one of them was fastened a ticket, intimating that the eight thousand pistoles, which the bags contained, came from Monsieur Claude Duval.
Here was a charming denouement to the adventure!
Her grace clapped her hands with delight; and having satisfied herself as to the contents of the bags, returned to the ball-room to proclaim what had happened.
Everybody laughed at the occurrence; but no one laughed more heartily than the Count de Bellegarde.
“Your majesty was perfectly right,” he observed to the king. “The robbery must have been a frolic. But who the deuce can have played it?”
Louise looked archly at her cousin, but made no remark.
“It is scarcely worth while to inquire now,” cried the Duchess of Cleveland, laughing. “Whoever Monsieur Claude Duval may be, he is exceedingly polite.”
“And dances the gaillarde better than anyone I ever saw,” cried Lady Muskerry.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 594