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In The Second April
by
“I regret,” de Soyecourt said, “to deny you the pleasure of participation. In sober verity I regret it. But unluckily, Monsieur d’Ormskirk, your dissolution is the sole security of my happiness; and in effect”–he shrugged,–“you comprehend my unfortunate position.”
“One of the prettiest messes ever stirred up in all history!” John Bulmer lamented; “and I to miss it! The policy of centuries shrugged aside, and the map of the world made over as lightly as if it were one of last year’s gowns! Decidedly I shall never again cast reflections upon the woman in politics, for this is superb. Why, this coup is worthy of me! And what is Petticoat the Second to give you, pray, for making all this possible?”
“She will give me,” the Marquis retorted, “according to advices received from her yesterday, a lettre-de-cachet for Gaston de Puysange. Gaston is a man of ability, but he is also a man of unbridled tongue. He has expressed his opinion concerning the Pompadour, to cite an instance, as freely as ever did the Comte de Maurepas. You know what happened to de Maurepas. Ah, yes, Gaston is undoubtedly a peer of France, but the Pompadour is queen of that kingdom. And in consequence–on the day that Madame de Pompadour learns of your death,–Gaston goes to the Bastile.”
“Naturally,” John Bulmer assented, “since imprisonment in the Bastile is by ordinary the reward of common-sense when manifested by a Frenchman. What the devil, monsieur! The Duchess’ uncle, Maréchal de Richelieu, has been there four times, and Gaston himself, if I am not mistaken, has sojourned there twice. And neither is one whit the worse for it.”
The Marquis sipped his coffee. “The Bastile is not a very healthy place. Besides, I have a friend there,–a gaoler. He was formerly a chemist.”
John Bulmer elevated the right eyebrow. “Poison?”
“Dieu m’en garde!” The Marquis was appalled. “Nay, monsieur, merely an unforeseeable attack of heart-disease.”
“Ah! ah!” said John Bulmer, very slowly. He presently resumed: “Afterward the Duchesse de Puysange will be a widow. And already she is fond of you; but unfortunately the Duchess–with every possible deference,–is a trifle prudish. I see it all now, quite plainly; and out of pure friendliness, I warn you that in my opinion the Duchess is hopelessly in love with her husband.”
“We should suspect no well bred lady of provincialism,” returned the Marquis, “and so I shall take my chance. Believe me, Monsieur le Duc, I profoundly regret that you and Gaston must be sacrificed in order to afford me this same chance.”
But John Bulmer was chuckling. “My faith!” he said, and softly chafed his hands together, “how sincerely you will be horrified when your impetuous error is discovered–just too late! You were merely endeavoring to serve your beloved Gaston and the Duke of Ormskirk when you hanged the rascal who had impudently stolen the woman intended to cement their friendship! The Duke fell a victim to his own folly, and you acted precipitately, perhaps, but out of pure zeal. You will probably weep. Meanwhile your lettre-de-cachet is on the road, and presently Gaston, too, is trapped and murdered. You weep yet more tears–oh, vociferous tears!—and the Duchess succumbs to you because you were so devotedly attached to her former husband. And England will sit snug while France reconquers Europe. Monsieur, I make you my compliments on one of the tidiest plots ever brooded over.”
“It rejoices me,” the Marquis returned, “that a conspirator of many years’ standing should commend my maiden effort.” He rose. “And now, Monsieur d’Ormskirk,” he continued, with extended hand, “matters being thus amicably adjusted, shall we say adieu?”
John Bulmer considered. “Well,–no!” said he, at last; “I commend your cleverness, Monsieur de Soyecourt, but as concerns your hand I must confess to a distaste.”
The Marquis smiled. “Because at the bottom of your heart you despise me,” he said. “Ah, believe me, monsieur, your contempt for de Soyecourt is less great than mine. And yet I have a weakness for him,–a weakness which induces me to indulge all his desires.”