how lovely she is!"
The king turned and smiled on the speaker.
"But she is not a mere mortal," said Richelieu; "she is a fairy," which won him the end of the smile.
In truth, never had the countess been fairer, more winsome in expression, more modest in bearing, more noble in figure, more elegant in step or more cunning in showing emotion; her like had never excited admiration in the queen's drawing-room.
Charmingly beautiful, richly but not flauntingly dressed and notable for a tastefully novel headdress, she advanced held by the hand of Countess Bearn. Spite of atrocious pangs, the latter did not hobble or even wince, though the rouge fell in flakes from her face as each step wrung her to the core.
All eyes turned on the singular pair.
The old dame, with an old-fashioned low-necked robe, and her hair built up a foot high above her bright but deep-set eyes like an osprey's, her splendid attire and her skeleton-tread, seemed the image of the past giving her hand to the present. This model of cold, dry dignity guiding decent and voluptuous beauty, struck most with admiration and astonishment.
The vivid contrast made the king fancy that Countess Bearn was bringing him his favorite more youthful and brilliant than ever.
"You have a very fair novice to present, my lady," said he; "but she also has a noble introductress, than whom there is not one whom I am more pleased to see again at court."
The old lady courtesied.
"Go and bow to my daughters," whispered the monarch to Jeanne, "and show that you know how to courtesy. I hope you will not be dissatisfied with the way they reply to you."
His eyes were fixed upon his daughters and compelled them to show politeness, and as Lady Dubarry bowed more lowly than court etiquette prescribed, they were touched, and embraced her with a cordiality which pleased their father.
Henceforward, the countess' success became a triumph.
The Duke of Richelieu, as the victor of Mahon, knew how to maneuver; he went and placed himself behind the chair ready for Countess Dubarry, so that he was near her when the presentation was over, without having to battle with the crowd. Lady Mirepoix, knowing how lucky her old friend was in warfare, had imitated him, and drew her stool close to the favorite's chair.
Supported by the royal love, and the favorable welcome of the royal princesses, Jeanne looked less timidly around among the noblemen, though it was among the ladies that she expected enemies.
"Ah, my Lord of Richelieu," she said, "I had to come here to find you, for you have let a week pass without calling at Luciennes."
"I was preparing for the pleasure of seeing you here, certain here to meet!" "I wish you had imparted the certainty to me, for I was none too sure on that head—considering that I am surrounded by plots to thwart me."
She glared at the old gallant who bore the glance imperturbably.
"Plots? Goodness! what are you talking about?"
"In the first place my hairdresser was spirited away."
"Was he, indeed! what a lucky thing that I sent you a pearl of his craft whom my daughter the Countess of Egmont found somewhere—an artiste most superior to the general run, even to the royal perrukeers, my little Leonard."
"Leonard," repeated the lady.
"Yes, a little fellow who does up my Septimanie's tresses, and whom she keeps hidden from all eyes, as a miser does his cash-box. You are not complaining of him, I think, for your ladyship is turned out, as barbers say, marvelously. Curiously enough, the style reminds me of a sketch which the court painter Boucher gave my daughter, for her to be dressed in accord with it, had she not fallen ill. Poor Seppie! But you were talking of plots?"
"Yes, they kept back my dress."
"This is odious! Though you are not to be pitied when arrayed in such a choice China silk; with flower work applied; now, had you applied to me in your quandary, as I hope you will in the future, I would have sent you the dress my daughter had made for her presence here—it is so like this, that I could vow it is the same."
Countess Dubarry seized both his hands, beginning to understand who was the enchanter who had saved her from the embarrassment.
"I suppose it was in your daughter's coach that I was brought here?" she said.
"Oh, I should know hers, for it was renovated for this occasion with white satin; but there was no time to paint her blazon upon the panels——"
"Only time to paint a rose! Duke, you are a delightful nobleman."
The old peer kissed the hands, of which he made a warm and perfumed mask. Feeling them thrill, he started and asked the cause.
"Who is that man yonder, in a Prussian officer's dress, with black eyes and expressive countenance, by Prince Guemenee?"
"Some superior officer whom the king of Prussia sends to honor your presentation."
"Do not laugh, duke; but that man was in France three or four years ago, and I have been seeking for him everywhere without avail."
"You are in error, countess; the stranger is Count Fenix, who arrived but yesterday."
"How hard he looks at me!"
"Nay, how tenderly everybody is looking at you!"
"Look, he is bowing to me!"
"Everybody is doing that, if they have not done so."
A prey to extraordinary emotion, the lady did not heed the duke's compliments, and, with her sight riveted on the stranger who captivated her attention, she quitted Richelieu, in spite of herself, to move toward the foreigner. The king was watching her and perceived the movement. He thought she wanted him, and approached her, as he had quite long enough stood aloof out of regard for the social restrictions. But the countess was so engrossed that her mind would not be diverted.
"Sire, who is that Prussian officer, now turning away from Prince Guemenee to look this way?"
"The stout figure with the square face enframed in a golden collar?—accredited from my cousin of Prussia—some philosopher of his stamp. I am glad that German philosophy celebrates the triumph of King Petticoat the Third, as they nickname the Louis for their devotion to the sex of which you are the brightest gem. His title is Count Fenix," added the sovereign reflecting.
"It is he," thought Countess Dubarry, but as she kept silence the king proceeded, raising his voice:
"Ladies, the dauphiness arrives at Compiegne to-morrow, the journey having been shortened. Her royal highness will receive at midday precisely. All the ladies presented at court will be of the reception party, except those who were absent to-day. The journey is fatiguing, and her highness can have no desire to aggravate the ills of those who are indisposed."
He looked with severity at Choiseul, Guemenee and Richelieu. A silence of terror surrounded the speaker, whose words were fully understood as meaning disgrace.
"Sire, I pray the exception for the Countess of Egmont, as she is the daughter of my most faithful
