Angelique - Part 1. Marquise of the Angels Chapter 10 - Read online

THB JOURNEY TO THE CONVENT AT POITIERS left Angflique with a jolting and rather unpleasant memory. A very old coach had been repaired for the occasion, and she had climbed into it with Hortense and Madelon. A groom drove the mules, while Raymond and Gontran were both mounted on fine thoroughbred horses, a present from their father. It was said that the Jesuits in their new colleges had stables reserved for the mounts of young noblemen.
Two heavy pack-horses completed the caravan. One carried old Guillaume, ordered to escort his young masters. Much bad news of trouble and war circulated in the countryside. There were rumours of Monsieur de la Rochefoucauld stirring up Poitou on behalf of Monsieur de Conde. He was recruiting armies and requisitioning crops to feed them. And armies meant famine and poverty, bandits and highwaymen at the cross-roads. So old Guillaume was there, his pike supported by the stirrup-holster, his old sword at his side.
The journey, however, was uneventful. Passing through the forest, they noticed a few suspicious figures among the trees. But no doubt the old mercenary’s pike, or else the poor aspect of the carriage, discouraged brigands.
They spent the night at an inn, at a sinister cross-roads, where the wind kept whistling through the bare trees. The innkeeper condescended to serve the travellers a dish of hot water styled a broth and some cheese, which they ate by the light of a dim tallow candle.
“All innkeepers are hand-in-glove with the highwaymen,” Raymond informed his terrified young sisters. “It’s in wayside inns that most murders are committed. On our last trip we stopped at a place where, less than a month before, they had cut the throat of a rich financier, for the sole reason that he was travelling alone.”
Regretting these morbid reflections, he added :
"These crimes committed by the lower orders are the direct outcome of the lawlessness of men in high places. Everyone has lost the fear of God.” There followed yet another day’s travelling. Shaken like sacks of nuts on the frozen, rutted roads, the three sisters were aching in every bone.
Only rarely did they roll over stretches of the old Roman road with its pavement of large, regular slabs. Most of the time the roads were plain day ploughed up by the ceaseless passage of coaches and riders. At the bridgeheads they sometimes had to stop for hours, until they were stiff with cold, because the toll-keeper was usually a slow and garrulous of ficial, for whom each passing traveller was a happy occasion for in¬dulging in a spot of gossip. The only ones to pass without slowing down were great noblemen who disdainfully tossed a purse out of a carriage- window at the keeper’s feet.
Madelon cried and dung shivering to Angelique. Hortense said through compressed lips:
“This is unbearable.”
They were, all three of them, dog-tired and uttered a vast sigh of relief when, on the evening of the second day, Poitiers appeared, with its faded pink roofs rising in tiers on the slope of a hill skirted by the gay river Clain.
It was a bright winter day. You could have imagined yoursdf m one of those Southern landscapes to which Poitou is indeed the gateway, so gendy shone the sky over the tiled roofs. The bells were ringing the Angelus. These bells were henceforward to regulate Angelique’s days for almost five years. Poitiers was a dty of cathedrals, convents and collegiate churches. The bells ruled the life of this frocked community, of the army of students, who were as noisy as their masters were soft-spoken. Priests and bachelor students met at the comer of sloping streets, in the shadow of courtyards, in the squares whose walls and steps of fered a resting place to the pilgrims to the dty.
The de Sancl children took leave of one another in front of the cathedral. The Ursuline Convent was a little to the left and towered over the river Clain. The college of the Jesuit fathers was perched on the very top of the hill. With the awkwardness of adolescents, they parted almost without a word. Only Madelon embraced her two brothers tearfully.
Thus the gates of the convent closed on Angllique. It took her a long time to realise that the stifling feeling that oppressed her was due to a sudden exclusion from the open spaces. Walls, and more walls, and bars before the windows. Her companions did not much appeal to her; she had always played with boys, little peasants who admired and obeyed her. But here, among young ladies of high lineage and solid wealth, Angelique de Sancl was necessarily relegated to the lowest ranks.
She also had to submit to the ordeal of wearing a whalebone corset. This tightly-laced garment, forcing a girl to hold herself straight, was meant to provide her with a disdainful, queenly deportment for the rest of her life and in all circumstances. Angelique, who was of vigorous build and supple sinews, and instinctively graceful, could have done without this torturing device. But the corset was an institution that extended far beyond the convent walls. Listening to the older girls, she could not doubt that the boned corset held an important place in the world of fashion. There was even talk of busquieres, a sort of tongue-shaped bodice front stiffened with strong cardboard or iron struts and which was lavishly embroidered and adorned with bows and jewels. The busquiere was meant to support the breasts, pressing them up under the lace until they looked as if they were about to burst out of their constraint at any moment. Naturally, the older girls discussed these details in secret, although the convent was specially entrusted with preparing young girls for marriage and life in society.
They had to learn to dance and curtsy, to play the lute and the harpsi-chord, to converse with two or three companions on a set subject, and even to handle a fan and apply cosmetics. Next in importance came housekeeping. In anticipation of reverses which Heaven might decree, the students had to attend to the most humble chores. Taking their turn, they would work in the kitchens and wash-houses, and clean and light the lamps, sweep and scrub the stone floors. Finally they were given the rudiments of an academic course: history and geography, dully presented; mythology, logic, theology, Latin. More attention was paid to stylistic exercises, the art of letter-writing being essentially feminine, and the exchange of letters between friends or lovers providing one of the most absorbing occupations for a woman of the world.
Without being an intractable pupil, Angelique gave little satisfaction to her teachers. She did what she was ordered to do, but did not seem to understand why she was obliged to do so many stupid things. Sometimes they would look for her in vain during lesson-time. She would eventually be found in the kitchen-garden, which was just a large garder which stretched away above the warm, quiet lanes. In response to the sternest reproaches, she would always answer that she had not realised she was doing wrong in watching the cabbages grow.
The following summer, there was a rather serious epidemic in the city, which was called the plague, because the rats came out of their holes to die and rot in the streets and houses.
The Princes* rebellion, led by Cond6 and Turenne, brought misery and famine to the western provinces, which had so far been spared by the foreign wars. No one knew any more who was for the King and who against, but the peasants, whose villages were burnt down, came smarming into the towns. This produced an army of paupers who congregated at
the back doors with outstretched palms. Soon they had become more numerous than the priests and students.
The young ladies of St. Ursula distributed alms to the poor stationed before the convent, at certain hours on certain days. They learned that this formed part of the training of a future great lady.
Angflique came face to face, for the first time, with hopeless, ragged poverty, genuine poverty with leering eyes, full of hatred. She was neither moved nor upset by it, unlike her companions; some of whom wept or curled their lips in disgust. She felt as if she recognised a picture whose imprint she had always borne within her, a strange foreboding of what fate had in store for her.
The plague made ravages among these scum that crammed the steep lanes where the burning July sun dried up the fountains. There were also several casualties among the pupils. One morning, during recreation, Angelique did not see Madelon. She inquired after her and was told that the sick child had been taken to the infirmary. Madelon died a few days later. Before her pallid, shrivelled body Angelique did not weep. She was even angry with Hortense for her spectacular tears. Why was this lanky girl of seventeen giving way to sobs? She had never loved Madelon. She only loved herself.
“Alas, my little ones/' said an old nun to them gently, “it's the law of God. Many children die. I'm told your mother had ten children and lost only one of them. This makes two. That's not many. I know a lady who had fifteen children and lost seven of them. That's how it is, you see. God giveth; God taketh away. Many children die, it's the law of God ”
After Madelon's death, Angelique became even more unsociable and no longer took kindly to discipline. She did only what she liked, disappeared for hours on end in forgotten crannies of the vast house. She had been forbidden to go into the garden and vegetable-plots. But she found ways and means of slipping into them, all the same. There was talk of sending her back home, but the Baron de Sance, despite the hardships caused by the civil war, paid the fees for his two daughters very regularly, which many parents of other pupils did not. Moreover, Hortense gave promise of becoming one of the most accomplished girls of her class. Out of consideration for the elder, they kept the younger girl. But they gave up looking after her.
So it happened that, one January day in 1652, Ang&que, who had just turned fifteen, found herself perched once again on the wall of the , 89
kitchen-garden, enjoying the sight of the bustling street below and warm¬ing herself in the gentle winter sun.
Poitiers was very animated in these first days of the y^r, for the Queen, the King and their supporters had just arrived there. Poor Queen, poor young King, tossed from revolt to revolt! They had come to the province of Guyenne in order to wage war against Monsieur de Cond6. On their way back, they stopped at Poitiers to try to negotiate with Monsieur de Turenne, who held this province from Fontenay-le-Comte to the sea. Chatellerault and Lufon, former Protestant strongholds, had rallied to the Huguenot General, but Poitiers, which had not forgotten that a hundred years ago its churches had been sacked and its mayor hanged by the heretics, had opened its gates to the monarch.
All that stood by the youthful prince today was the black dress of the Spanish woman. The people, the whole of France, had shouted for so long “Down with Mazarin! Down with Mazarin!” that the red-robed man had at last bowed out. He had left the Queen he loved'.d taken refuge in Germany. But his departure had not been enough to calm the rage.
Leaning against the convent wall, Angelique listened to the murmurs of the seething town, whose excitement spread its ripples even to this remote district.
The curses of coachmen, whose carriages blocked one another in the winding lanes, mingled with the cries and laughter of pages and serving-girls, and with the neighing of horses. The pealing of bells floated above the hubbub. Angflique was now able to distinguish th different chimes, that of Saint Hilaire, of Sainte Radegonde, the great bell of Notre-Dame-la-Grande, the droning bells of the Tower of Saint Porchaire.
Suddenly, at the foot of the wall, a garland of pages passed Икс a swarm of birds of paradise in their silk and satin. One of them stopped to tie the ribbon of his shoe. As he straightened up, he raised his head and met Angehque’s eyes watching him from the top of her wall. With a gaUant gesture, the page swept the dust with his hat.
“I salute you, Mademoiselle. You don’t look as if you are enjoying yourself up there.”
He resembled the pages she had seen at Plessis, wearing the same little puffed-out pants as they did, the trunk-hose, a legacy of the sixteenth century which gave him long, spindly legs like a heron’s. For the rest, he seemed pleasant enough, with a gay, tanned face and fine curly brown hair. She asked him his age. He said he was sixteen.
“But don’t worry, Mademoiselle/' he added, “I know how to pay court to ladies.”
He cast a cajoling glance at her and then suddenly held out his arms.
“Do come and join me.”
A pleasant sfcnsation filled Angelique. The sad, grey prison, in which her heart was languishing, seemed to open its gates. This merry laughter floating up to her held the promise of something sweet and stimulating that she hungered for.
“Do come,” he whispered. “If you like, I'll take you to the mansion of the Dues d' Aquitaine, where the Court is staying, and I'll show you the King.”
She had hardly a moment’s hesitation and adjusted her black woollen cloak and hood.
“Look out! I’m going to jump!” she cried.
He caught her almost in his arms. They burst out laughing. He quickly grasped.tyer wrist and pulled her along.
“What will the nuns in your convent say?”
“They are used to my escapades.”
“And how will you manage to get back?”
“I'll ring at the door and beg for alms.”
He puffed with laughter.
Angelique felt intoxicated by the whirlwind that suddenly surrounded her. Among the lords and ladies, whose sumptuous finery amazed the provincials, passed merchants of all kinds. From one of them the young page bought two little sticks on which fried frog-legs were impaled. Having always lived in Paris, he found this dish extraordinarily amusing. The two youngsters ate with a hearty appetite. The page told her that he was called Henri de Roguicr and was attached to the service of the King. The latter, a gay boon-companion, at times gave his grave councillors the slip to join his friends in strumming a guitar. Cardinal Mazarin’s nieces, those charming Italian dolls, were still at Court, despite their uncle's forced departure.
While chatting away, the young boy was insidiously leading Angelique towards a less frequented part of the town. She noticed it but said nothing. Her body had suddenly awakened and was waiting expectantly for some¬thing which the page’s hand about her waist seemed to promise.
He stopped and pushed her gently into a doorway. Then he began to kiss her with fervour. Between kisses his talk bubbled with amusing, commonplace trifles.
“You are beautiful. . . . Your cheeks are like daisies and your eyes as green as leap-frogs. . . . The frogs of your countryside. . . . Don't
move. I want to open your bodice. . . . Let me. ... I know how to. . . . Oh! I’ve never seen such sweet white breasts. . . . And as firm as apples. . . . I like you, my sweet. . .
She let him ramble on, caress her. She tossed her head back a little against the mossy stone, and her eyes automatically glanced up at the blue sky.
The page was silent now; his breath came more quickly. He fidgeted and several times looked around with annoyance. The street was fairly quiet, but now and then some people passed. There was even a cavalcade of students, who cried “Ho! Ho!” when they perceived the young couple in the shadow of the wall.
The boy stepped back, stamped his foot.
“Oh! this is infuriating! All the houses are crammed to bursting in this damned country town. Even the noble lords must receive their mistresses in ante-rooms. Now where could we go for a little quiet, I ask you?”
“We are all right here,” she murmured.
But he was not satisfied. He glanced down at his chain-purse dangling at his waist, and his face brightened.
“Come on! I have an idea. We’ll find a good-size drawing-room!”
He took her by the hand and pulled her along at a run, until they reached the square of Notre-Dame-la-Grande. Though she had now been in Poitiers for two years, Angelique was unfamiliar with the town. She looked with admiration at the fa9ade of the church, as finely carved as an Indian jewel-box, flanked by fir-cone-shaped bell-turrets. The very stone seemed to have flowered under the sculptor’s magic chisel. Young Henri told his companion to stay under the porch and wait for him. He came back after a short while, greatly pleased, with a key in his hand.
“The sexton has rented me the pulpit for a minute.”
“The pulpit?” repeated Angelique, amazed.
“Bah! This isn’t the first time he’s rendered this service to homeless lovers.”
He had gripped her waist again and was walking down the sunken steps that led to the sanctuary.
Angelique was impressed by the darkness and coolness of the vault. The churches of Poitou are the most sombre ones in France. Sturdy edifices, resting on huge pillars, they conceal in their shadows ancient mural decorations, whose vivid hues appear only gradually to the surprised eye. The two youngsters advanced in silence.
“I feel cold,” murmured Angelique, pulling her cloak around her.
He put a protective arm around her shoulders, but her high spirits had subsided and she was frightened.
He opened the first door of the monumental pulpit, then climbed the steps and walked on to the round platform where the sermons were delivered. Angelique followed him mechanically.
They sat down on the floor, which was covered with a velvet carpet. The church, with its deep gloom, its smell of incense, seemed to have calmed the page’s enterprising mood. He put his arm again around Angelique's shoulders and gently kissed her temple.
“You are such a lovely little sweetheart,” he sighed. “I do like you so much better than the great ladies who tease me and make fun of me. That doesn’t amuse me, but I must try and please them. If you only knew. . . .”
He sighed again. His face had recaptured its boyishness.
“I’ll show you something very beautiful, something exceptional,” he said, rummaging in his chain-purse.
He pulled from it a square of white linen, edged with lace and rather grimy.
“A handkerchief?” asked Angelique.
“Yes, the King’s handkerchief. He dropped it this morning. I picked it up and have kept it as a talisman.”
He gazed at it dreamily for some time.
“Shall I give it to you as a love-token?”
“Oh do!” said Angelique, quickly stretching out her hand.
Her arm knocked against the massive wooden balustrade, and a boom¬ing echo resounded under the dome.
They sat quite still, amazed and a little alarmed.
“I think someone’s coming,” murmured Angelique.
With a wretched look the boy confessed:
“I forgot to close the pulpit-door downstairs.”
They both fell silent, listening to the approaching footsteps. Someone was mounting the stair to their refuge, and the black-capped head of an old priest appeared above them.
“What are you doing here, my children?” he asked.
The resourceful page already had his story ready:
“I wanted to see my sister, who is in boarding-school at Poitiers, but I didn’t know where to meet her. Our parents . . .”
“Don’t speak so loudly in the house of God,” said the priest. “Get up, and your sister too, and follow me.”
He led them into the vestry and sat down on a stool. Then, his hands propped on his knees, he looked slowly from one to the other. The white hair emerging from his priestly cap made a halo around his face, which, despite his age, had retained its fresh peasant colouring. He had a large nose, small, lively, keen eyes, and a short white beard. Henri de Roguier suddenly looked scared and lapsed into silence with unfeigned confusion.
“Is he your lover?’* the аЬЬё suddenly asked Angelique, his chin motioning in the direction of the young boy.
A blush spread over the girl’s face, and the page cried quickly and frankly:
“I wish she were, sir, but she’s not that sort.”
“I congratulate you, my daughter. If you had a beautiful pearl neck¬lace, would you amuse yourself by throwing it into a courtyard full of dung, where the hogs would nuzzle it with their wet snouts? Eh? Answer me, child. Would you do that?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“You mustn’t cast pearls before swine. You must not squander the treasure of your virginity which should be reserved until your marriage. And you, callow lout,” he continued softly, “whence comes the sacrilegious idea of taking your girl friend to the pulpit of a church to dolly with her?”
“Where else could I take her?” the page protested sulkily. “You can’t talk quietly in the lanes of this town, which arc as narrow as cupboards. I knew that the sexton of Notre-Damc-la-Grande sometimes rents the pulpit and the confessionals so that one can whisper secrets far from in¬discreet ears. You know, Monsieur Vincent, that in these provincial towns there are many damsels so strictly kept by a grumpy father or a nagging mother that they never have an opportunity to hear sweet secrets, if ...”
“How well you instruct me, my boy!”
“The pulpit cost thirty livres, and the confessionals twenty. It’s a lot for my purse, believe me, Monsieur Vincent.”
“I do believe you,” said Monsieur Vincent. “But it costs even more in the scales in which the devil and the angel weigh up the sins in front of Notre-Dame-la-Grande.”
His face, which had so far retained its serene expression, now grew stern. He held out his hand.
“Give me the key that was entrusted to you.”
And when the boy had handed it to him:
“You will go to confession, will you not? I shall wait for you tomorrow evening in this same church. I shall absolve you. I know only too well in what sort of an environment you live, poor little page! And it is better for you to play the man with a child of your age than serve as a plaything to ripe ladies who debauch you in their alcoves. . . . Yes, I sec you’re blushing. Before her, so fresh, so new, you are ashamed of your sordid loves.”
The boy hung his head, his impudence had vanished. He finally stammered:
“Monsieur Vincent de Paul, I beg of you, don’t tell this to Her Majesty the Queen. If she sends me back to my father, he wont know where else to establish me. I have seven sisters who need a dowry, and I am the third youngest of the family. I was able to obtain the signal favour of entering the King’s service thanks only to Monsieur de Lorraine, who . . . who likes me,” he concluded with embarrassment. “He paid the commission for me. If I am thrown out, he will probably demand that my father reimburse him, and that’s impossible.”
The old churchman looked at him gravely.
“I shall not name you. But it is well that I should once again remind the Queen of the turpitudes that surround her. Alas, she is a pious woman, devoted to good works, but what can she do against so much rottenness? You cannot change souls by decree. . . .”
The vestry door opened, and he broke of f. A young man, with long curly hair and dressed in a rather smart black suit, came in. Monsieur Vincent straightened up and looked at him sternly.
“Vicar, I hope I am right in assuming that you know nothing of that trafficking that your sexton indulges in. He has just pocketed thirty livres from this young gentleman to allow him to meet his lady friend in the pulpit of your church. It is time that you watched over your clerics a little more carefully.”
To regain his composure, the vicar took a long time in closing die door. When he turned round, the twilight in the room ill-concealed his em-barrassment. As he remained silent, Monsieur Vincent went on:
“I notice, moreover, that you are wearing a wig and a lay gown. This is forbidden to priests. I shall be compelled to bring these lapses and traffickings to the notice of your parish beneficiary.”
The priest tried to conceal a shrug. .
“It will leave him quite indifferent, Monsieur Vincent. The beneficiary is a canon in Paris. He bought the living three years ago from the previous incumbent, who retired to his estate. He has never come here, and as he has a chapter-house on the apse of Notre-Dame-de-Paris, I wager that Notre-Dame-la-Grande of Poitiers must seem quite paltry to him.”
“Oh, I tremble,” suddenly cried Monsieur Vincent, “lest this damnable trade in parishes and incumbencies, sold like asses and horses on the market place, drag the Church down to perdition. And who are the people appointed nowadays as bishops in the kingdom? Great war-lords and libertines who sometimes have not even received Orders but, being rich enough to acquire a bishop’s see, dare to clothe themselves in the robe and ornaments of ministers of God . . . ! Oh, may the Lord help us to overthrow such institutions!”
Glad to see the lightning strike elsewhere, the vicar ventured:
“My parish is not neglected. I do look after it and give it all my care. Do us the great honour, Monsieur Vincent, of attending our service of the Most Holy Sacrament tonight. You will see the nave packed with the faithful. Poitiers has been preserved from heresy by the zeal of her priests. Poitiers is not like Niort, Chatellerault and ...”
The old man glowered at him.
“The vices of the priests were the primary cause of heresies!” he said blundy.
He rose and, taking the two young people by the shoulder, pushed them out in front of him. Despite his great age and stooping back, he seemed full of vigour and briskness.
Evening was descending on the square in front of the church, where the pale winter light lent life to the stone flowers.
“My lambs,” said Monsieur Vincent, “my little children of God, you have tried to taste the green fruit of love. That’s why your teeth are on edge and your hearts full of sadness. Let the sun of life ripen what has always been destined to blossom and mature. You must not stray in your quest of love, for if you do you may never find it. What crueller punish¬ment is there for impatience and weakness than to be condemned for ever to bite only into sour, savourless fruit?
“You will now go each your separate ways. You, boy, to your service, which you must attend to conscientiously. You, girl, to your nuns and your work. And at the rise of day do not forget to pray to God, who is the father of us all.”
He left them. His glance followed their graceful figures until they parted at the corner of the square.
Angelique did not look back until she had reached the convent gate. A great peace had settled within her. But her shoulder still felt the imprint of a warm, old hand.
‘Monsieur Vincent/ she thought. ‘Is he the great Monsieur Vincent? The one whom the Marquis du Plessis called the Conscience of the Kingdom? The one who compels the noblemen to serve the poor? He who each day has private talks with the King and the Queen? How simple, how gentle he seems!’
Before lifting the knocker, she cast a glance back at the town, which was shrouded in darkness. “Bless me, Monsieur Vincent,” she murmured.
Angelique accepted unrebelliously the punishments inflicted on her for this latest exploit. Indeed a change came over her fractious conduct. She applied herself to her studies, showed friendliness towards her schoolmates. She seemed at last to have adapted herself to the strictness of convent life.
r 4
In September her sister Hortense left the convent-school. A distant aunt called her to Niort as a lady companion. In actual fact, that lady, who was of very lowly nobility and had married a rich magistrate of obscure origins, was anxious that her son should add lustre to their dull escutcheon by an alliance with a noble name. The young man’s father had just of fered him the office of procureur du Rot, a King’s proctor in Paris, and it was desirable that he should seem at ease among people of high rank. It was an • unhoped-for opportunity for both sides. The marriage was promptly arranged. •
At the same time, the young King Louis XIV returned victoriously to his great capital.
France emerged bled white from a civil war, in the course of which six armies had trampled her soil, seeking, and not always finding, one another: there had been the Prince de Conde’s army, the King’s led by Turenne, who had suddenly chosen not to turn traitor after all, Gaston cT Orleans’s army allied with the English and opposed to the French Princes, the Due de Beaufort’s army at odds with everyone but helped by the Spaniards, the Due de Lorraine’s, which operated on its own account, and finally the army of Mazarin, who had wanted to send reinforcements to the Queen from Germany. Mademoiselle de Montpcnsier came close to being appointed a general of the army for the initiative she had taken one day in firing the cannon of the Bastille against the troops of her own royal cousin. It was a gesture that was to cost the Grande Demoiselle dearly, for it frightened of f a good many suitors among the princes of Europe.
“Mademoiselle has just ‘slain* her husband,” Cardinal Mazarin had muttered in his soft Abruzzi accent, when he learned of it.
The latter remained the great victor of this mad and horrible crisis. Less than a year afterwards, his red robe could be seen again in the corridors of the Louvre, but there were no more lampoons against him. Everyone’s strength was exhausted.
Angclique had turned seventeen when she learned of her mother’s death. She prayed a great deal in the chapel, but did not weep. She could not realise that she would never again see the grey-clad figure with the black shawl, which in summer was covered by an old- fashioned straw-hat. Assiduously concerned with the orchard and kitchen-garden, Madame de Sanc6 had lavished more care and caresses, perhaps, on her pear-trees and cabbages than on her numerous of fspring.
v.
On the occasion of her mother’s death, Angelique saw her brothers Raymond and Denis again, for they came to announce the news to her. The young girl received them in the parlour, behind the cold grille required by the Ursuline order.
Denis was now at college. In growing up, he had begun to look so much like Josselin that she sometimes thought she was seeing her eldest brother again, with his black schoolboy uniform and the inkhom at his belt. She was so struck by this resemblance that, after greeting the clergy¬man who accompanied her brother, she paid no more attention to the former and he had to give his name.
“I am Raymond, Angelique. Don’t you recognise me?”
She was almost intimidated. At her convent, which was stricter than most, the nuns treated priests with a devout servility from which an instinctive female submission to the male was not wholly absent. To hear herself familiarly spoken to by one of them troubled her. Now she was the one to drop her eyes, while Raymond smiled at her. With much tact, he told her of the misfortune that had befallen them and spoke very simply of the obedience that was owed to God. Something had changed in his long face with its sallow complexion and clear, ardent eyes.
He also told her of their father’s disappointment at the fact that Ray¬mond’s religious inclinations had become strengthened during the recent years spent with the Jesuits. With Josselin gone, he had hoped that Raymond would assume the role of heir. But the young man had re¬nounced his inheritance in favour of his younger brothers, and had taken his vows. Gontran too was a disappointment to poor Baron Armand. Far from wishing to join the armies, he had gone to Paris to study no one quite knew what. So they would have to wait for Denis, now aged thirteen, to see the name of Sancc recapture the military lustre that was traditional in families of high lineage.
While talking, the Jesuit father kept looking at his sister, this young girl who was leaning her rosy face against the chill bars as she listened to him, and whose strange eyes seemed, in the shadow of the parlour, limpid as sea water. He felt a kind of pity as he asked:
“And you, Angelique, what are you going to do?”
She shook her heavy hair with its golden lustre, and answered in¬differently that she did not know. ,
A year later, Angelique de Sance was again called into the parlour.
Here she found old Guillaume, looking exactly as she remembered him. He had carefully propped his trusty pike against the wall of the cell.
He told her that he had come to fetch her back to Montdoup. Her education was now finished. She was an accomplished young lady, and a husband had been found for her.
PART TWO
Marriage in Toulouse 
THE BARON DE SANC£ looked at his daughter Angelique with un-disguised satisfaction.
“Those nuns have made a perfect young lady of you, my little tom¬boy.”
“Perfect! Oh! Wait and see,” protested Angelique, shaking her locks back in a familiar gesture.
The air of Monteloup, with its sweetish scent rising from the marshes, gave her a new spurt of independence. She straightened up like a wilting flower under a pleasant downpour.
But Baron Armand’s parental vanity would accept no rebuff.
“Anyway, you are even prettier than I dared to hope. Your com¬plexion is perhaps a little darker than your eyes and hair call for, but the contrast is not unattractive. Besides, I’ve noticed that most of my children have the same dark complexion. It's the last vestige, I fear, of a drop of Arab blood that the people of Poitou, in general, have kept in their veins. Have you seen your little brother Jean-Marie? A real Moor, one would say!”
Then, abruptly, he said:
“The Comte de Peyrac de Morens has asked your hand in marriage.”
“Me?” said Angelique. “But I don’t know him!”
“That doesn’t matter. Molines knows him, and that’s the main thing. He assures me that 1 could not dream of a more flattering alliance for any of my daughters.”
Baron Armand was beaming. He mowed down some primroses with the tip of his stick on the sloping bank along the narrow path where he and his daughter were strolling on this warm April morning.
Angelique had arrived at Monteloup the night before, accompanied by old Guillaume and her brother Denis. As she expressed surprise at seeing the schoolboy on leave, he explained that he had obtained a holiday to attend her wedding.
‘What is all this about a wedding?’ thought the young girl.
She had not taken the matter seriously, but the Baron’s assured tone now began to alarm her.
He had not aged much during the past years; a few grey threads showed in his moustaches and in the small tuft of hair he wore beneath his Ups, in the style fashionable during the reign of Louis ХШ. AngdUque, who had
expected to find him depressed and unsure as a consequence of his wife’s death, was almost surprised to see him in good spirits and smiling.
As they reached the sloping meadow that overlooked the dry marshes, she tried to change the subject which threatened to create a conflict between them just when they had begun to find each other again.
“You wrote and told me, Papa, that you had serious losses with your cattle due to army requisitioning and looting during the last years of the terrible civil war.”
“Sure enough, Molines and I lost practically half our livestock, and without him I’d be in prison for debts by now after selling all my estates.”
“Do you still owe him much?” she asked anxiously.
“Unfortunately, out of the forty thousand livres he lent me long ago, I have been able to pay him back only about five thousand in the course of five years of desperately hard work. And even those Molines refused to accept, pretending he paid them over to me outright and that they were part of the agreement. I had to get quite angry to make him accept them.”
Angelique observed very shrewdly that since the steward himself considered he did not require reimbursement, her father was wrong to persevere in his generosity.
“If that fellow Molines suggested this business in the first place, he was sure to gain by it. He is not die type of man to make you a present, but he has a certain integrity, and if he leaves those forty thousand livres to you, he must consider that the trouble you took and the services you’ve rendered him are well worth it.”
“It is true that our little commerce in mules and lead, exempted as it is of taxes on transport to the sea, works fairly well, and in the years free of looting, when one can sell the rest of our output to the State, we cover our expenses, that is true.”
He cast a perplexed glance at Angelique.
“But how shrewdly you talk, my daughter! I wonder if such practical and even vulgar speech becomes a young girl who has just left the convent.”
Angelique started to laugh.
“It seems that in Paris women manage everything: politics, religion, literature, even sciences. They are called prkieuses. They meet every day at one another’s homes, together with wits and wise men. The mistress of the house lies on her bed, and the guests crowd the narrow passages of the alcove, and there they discourse. I wonder, when I’m in Paris, if I’ll create an ‘alcove’ to discuss commerce and trade.”
“What a horror!” cried the Baron, frankly shocked. “Angelique, surely the Ursulines in Poitiers did not give you such ideas.”
“They claimed I was extremely good at figures and arguments. Even too good. . . . On the other hand, they were upset about not being able to turn me into a model of devoutness—and hypocrisy, like my sister Hortense. Hortense let them hope she might take the vows, but the attraction of marrying a procureur definitely proved more potent.”
“My child, you must not be jealous, since Molines, whom you judge severely, has managed to find you a husband who is certainly very much superior to Hortense’s husband.”
The young girl stamped the ground impatiendy.
“Molines really exaggerates! Hearing you talk, wouldn’t one think I was his daughter, not yours, that he should take such care of my future?” “You would be quite wrong to complain of it, my little mule,” said her father, smiling. “Listen to me. Comte Joffrey de Peyrac is a descendant of the ancient Counts of Toulouse, whose noble heritage goes back even farther than those of our King Louis XIV. Moreover, he is the richest and the most influential man in the Languedoc.”
“That may be, Father, but after all I cannot marry a man whom I don’t know, whom you yourself have never seen.”
“Why not?” asked the Baron, genuinely surprised. “All young girls of quality get married in this fashion. It can’t be left to them or to the accidents of fortune to decide upon alliances that are advantageous to their families, and on establishments that involve not only their future, but their name.”
“Is he . . . is he young?” inquired the girl with some hesitation. “Young? Young?” grumbled the Baron, out of patience. “What a futile question for a practical-minded person to ask! As a matter of fact, your future husband is twelve years older than you. But the thirties are the age of strength and attraction in a man. Heaven can still grant you numerous children. You will have a palace in Toulouse, castles in Albi and in the Bearn, carriages, fine clothes . . .”
Monsieur de Sance stopped, his imagination exhausted.
“For my part,” he concluded, “I consider that a proposal of marriage by a man who has not seen you either is an extraordinary, unhoped-for stroke of luck.”
They walked on a few steps in silence.
“Exactly,” murmured Angelique, “I consider this chance rather too extraordinary. Why should this Comte, who has everything that’s needed to choose a rich heiress for his wife, go out of his way to seek a girl with¬out a dowry in the depths of Poitou?”
“Without a dowry?” repeated Armand de Sanc£, and his face bright¬ened. “Come back with me to the chSteau, Angflique, and get dressed for an outing. We shall take our horses. I want to show you some¬thing.”
In the castle yard» at the Baron’s order, a groom led two horses out of the stables, and harnessed them quickly. The young girl, much intrigued, asked no more questions. While mounting her horse, she told herself that after all she was destined to marry and that most of her companions got married in this way to suitors whom their parents chose for them. Why, then, did this project revolt her so much? The man who was intended for her was not an old man. She would be rich.
Angclique became aware suddenly that she was experiencing a pleasant physical sensation and it took her a few moments to realise its cause. The hand of the groom who had helped her into her side-saddle had slid down her ankle and was caressing it softly in a way that, with the best will in the world, could not be taken for absent-mindedness.
The Baron had disappeared into the chateau to change his boots and put on a fresh neck-band.
Angclique fidgeted nervously and the horse shied a little.
“What’s come over you, peasant?”
She felt flushed and furious with herself, for she had to admit that the brief caress had filled her with an exquisite thrill.
The groom, a broad-shouldered Hercules, raised his head. Brown locks of hair fell over dark eyes that glowed with a familiar malice.
“Nicholas!” cried Angclique, while the pleasure of seeing her old play¬mate and confusion at his having permitted himself so daring a gesture struggled within her.
“Oh, you’ve recognised Nicholas!” said the Baron de Sance, coming towards them with long strides. “He’s the most mischievous devil in the whole region, nobody can keep him down. Neither tilling the land nor tending mules interests him. La2y and a touser of wenches, that’s what your former companion’s become, Angclique.”
The young man did not seem at all ashamed of his master’s judgment. He continued to gaze at Angelique with a broad smile that disclosed his white teeth, and a boldness that bordered on insolence. His open shirt revealed a broad, dark chest.
“Hey, boy, take a mule and follow us,” said the Baron, who had noticed nothing.
“Very good, Master.”
The three mounts passed over the drawbridge and set out oh the road to the left of Monteloup.
“Where are we going, Father?”
“To the old lead quarry.”
“Those crumbling furnaces over by the lands of the Abbey of Nieul?” “Those very ones.”
“I don’t know why that bit of barren ground . . .”
“That plot of ground, which is no longer barren and which is now called Argentine, represents, quite simply, your dowry. You remember that Molines had asked me to renew our family’s mining rights, as well as to petition for tax exemption on one quarter of the output. After duly obtaining these, he sent for some Saxon workers. Seeing the importance he attached to this hitherto useless ground, I told him one day that I intended to give it to you as a dowry. I believe it’s from that day onward that the idea of your marriage to the Comte de Peyrac sprang up in his fertile mind, for that gentleman of Toulouse would indeed like to acquire this land. I do not quite understand the type of business he is up to with Molines. I think he is more or less the consignee of the mules and metals that we send by sea to their Spanish destination. Which proves that there are far more gentlemen than is commonly believed who take an interest in trade. Still, I should have thought that die Comte de Peyrac had enough Bnd and properties not to demean himself to such commoners’ practices, laut perhaps it amuses him. He’s said to be quite an original person.”
“If I understand you correcdy,” said Angelique slowly, “you knew that someone coveted this mine and you made it clear that your daughter had to be taken with it.”
“You do present things in a peculiar light, Angelique! I think that this solution of giving you the mine as dowry was excellent. The desire to see my daughters well established has been my principal concern, as it used to be your poor mother’s. But, in our family, we do not sell our land. Despite the worst hardships, we have succeeded in keeping our patrimony intact, even though du Plessis more than once has cast an envious eye on my famous dry marshland. But to marry my daughter of f not only honourably, but wealthily, is something that really pleases me. The estate will not leave the family, it will not go to a stranger, but to a new branch of the family, a new alliance.”
Angelique fell a litde behind her father. Thus he could not see the expression on her face. The girl’s small white teeth were biting her lip with impotent rage. She could not explain to her father how humiliated she felt by the way in which this proposal of marriage had been brought about, even less so since he was so obviously convinced that he had very astutely assured his daughter’s happiness. She tried, however, to keep on fighting.
“If I remember rightly, didn’t you rent this quarry to Molines for ten years? So there’d still remain four years to run. How can you give this plot in dowry when it is rented?”
“Molines is not only agreeable, but he will continue to work the mine for the Comte de Peyrac. We’re almost there.”
After an hour’s ride they reached the place. Angelique formerly thought that this black quarry and its Protestant villages were situated at the end of the world. But now it seemed quite close. The well-kept road confirmed this new impression. A small hamlet had been built for the workmen.
Father and daughter slipped down to the ground and Nicholas ap¬proached to take the horses’ reins.
The desolate-looking place that Angelique remembered had changed completely. A system of water-mains brought running water and worked several upright millstones. Cast-iron pounders were crushing stones with a dull thud, while heavy blocks of rock were split by manual sledge¬hammers. Two furnaces were glowing and enormous leather bellows made the flames kindle. Black mountains of charcoal rose next to the furnaces, and the rest of the mining-site was occupied by heaps of stones. Into the wooden spouts through which the water flowed the workmen shovelled the sand from the rocks as they left the grindstones. Others, with hoes, raked the contents of the pipes against the current.
A fairly tall building, set farther back, had gates with fences and iron bars and was locked with big padlocks. Two men armed with muskets stood watch near-by.
“The reserve of silver and lead ingots,” said the Baron.
He added very proudly that he would ask Molines some time in the near future to show the contents to Angelique.
He then took her over to the adjacent quarry. Enormous tiers, each four yards high, now turned it into a sort of Roman amphitheatre. Here and there, black underground passages burrowed into the rock, from which emerged small donkey-driven carts.
“We have ten Saxon families living here—professional miners, metal- founders and quarrymen. They and Molines together have set up this mine.”
“And the business yields how much profit per year?” asked Angelique.
“Why, that’s a question I never asked myself,” confessed^ Armand de Sanc£, a trifle shamefaced. “You see, Molines pays me his rent regularly. He’s paid the whole cost of installation. The furnace bricks come from England and perhaps even from Spain, brought by smugglers* caravans from the Languedoc.”
“Through the intermediary, I presume, of the man you intend me to marry?
“That is4possible. It appears he has his finger in no end of pies. Besides, he is a scientist and actually designed the plan of this steam machine.”
The Baron led his daughter to the entrance of one of the low galleries cut into the mountainside. He showed her a sort of enormous iron cauldron under which a fire was kept burning, and from which pro¬truded two thick pipes, wrapped in cloth, that led into a well. At regular intervals a jet of water spurted from it on to the surface of the ground.
“It’s one of the first steam machines that have ever been built. It serves to pump out the subterranean water from the mine. It’s an invention which the Comte de Peyrac perfected during one of his stays in England. You see that, for a woman who wants to become a pricieuse, here’s a husband as learned and brilliant as I am slow and ignorant,” he added, making a pitiful face. “Ah; good morning, Fritz Hauer.” 1
One of the workmen who stood near the machine removed his bonnet and bowed deeply. His face looked as though it had been turned blue by rock dust encrusted in his skin in the course of his long career in mining. Two fingers were missing from one of his hands. Stocky and hump¬backed as he was, one would have said that his arms were over-long. Strands of hair fell into his small, sparkling eyes.
“I think he looks rather like Vulcan, the god of Hell,” said Monsieur de Sance. “It seems there’s not a man alive who knows the entrails of the earth better than this Saxon workman. That’s perhaps why he has such an odd appearance. All these mining problems have never seemed quite clear to me, and I don’t know to what extent witchcraft may be involved in it. It is said that Fritz Hauer knows a secret process for transforming lead into gold. Now that really would be extraordinary. However that may be, he’s been working for the Comte de Peyrac for several years and was sent by him to Poitou to set up Argcntiere.”
‘The Comte de Peyrac! Always the Comte de Peyrac!’ thought Angclique, exasperated.
She said aloud:
“Perhaps that’s why he’s so rich, this Comte de Peyrac. He turns the lead this Fritz Hauer sends him into gold. Next thing we’ll know he’ll turn me into a leap-frog. . . .”
“You really pain me, my child! Why this sarcastic tone? One would think I was seeking to cause you misfortune. Nothing in this project can
in the least justify your distrust. I expected shouts of joy and hear nothing but taunts.”
“That’s true, Papa, forgive me,” said Angelique, contrite and grieved by the disappointment she could read in the seigneur’s honest face. “The nuns of ten said that I wasn't like the other girls and that my moods were disconcerting. I won't conceal from you that this marriage proposal, far from delighting me, strikes me as extremely unpleasant. Give me time to think it over, to get used to it. . . .”
While talking, they had returned to where the horses were tethered. Angelique quickly mounted into the saddle, in order to avoid Nicholas's too eager assistance, but she could not prevent the groom’s brown hand brushing her arm as he handed her the reins.
‘This is very embarrassing,’ she thought to herself, annoyed. ‘I shall have to put him severely in his place.’
The narrow paths were flowering with hawthorn. The exquisite scent, which reminded her of the days of her childhood, somewhat appeased the girl's restiveness.
“Father,” she said suddenly, “I gather that, with regard to the Comte de Peyrac, you would like me to come to a decision soon. I have just had an idea. Will you allow me to ride over to Molines? I should like to have a serious talk with him.”
The Baron glanced at the sun in order to guess the time.
“It is almost noon. But I imagine Molines will be delighted to receive you at his table. Go ahead, my daughter. Nicholas will accompany you.”
Angelique was about to refuse this escort, but she did not want to appear to attach the slightest importance to the peasant boy, and after waving a gay good-bye to her father, she rode of f at a gallop. The groom, who was riding a mule, was soon left far behind.
Half an hour later, Angelique, passing in front of the gate of the chateau du Plessis, stooped forward to see if she could make out a white apparition at the far end of the chestnut avenue.
‘Philippe,’ she thought and was surprised that this name should have arisen again in her memory as if to add to her melancholy.
But the du Plessis’ were still in Paris. Although a former supporter of Monsieur de Conde, the Marquis had managed to ingratiate himself with the Queen and Cardinal Mazarin again, whereas the Prince, the victor of Rocroi, one of the most glorious of France’s Generals, had, to his disgrace, gone to serve the King of Spain in Flanders. Angilique Wondered whether the disappearance of the poison-casket had played some part, in Condi's destiny. At any rate, neither Cardinal Mazarin nor the King and
no
his young brother had been poisoned. And it was said that Monsieur de Fouquet, the leader of the plof against His Majesty, had just been ap¬pointed Controller-General of Finances.
It was amusing to think that a little, unknown country-girl had perhaps changed the course of history. One day she would have to make sure that the casket was still in its hiding-place. And the page she had accused, what had become of him? Bah! that was of no importance.
Angeliquc heard the gallop of Nicholas’s mule behind her. She spurred her horse on and soon arrived at the steward’s house.
After the meal, Molines ushered Angeliquc into his small study, where some years before he had received her father. It was here that the mule trade had first started, and the young girl suddenly remembered the ambiguous answer the steward had given to the question of the practical- minded child she had then been:
“And what will you give wie?”
“We’ll give you a husband.”
Had he already thought of an alliance with that strange Comte from Toulouse? It was not impossible, for Molines was a man who thought far ahead and whose mind entertained a thousand schemes at once. Actually, the steward of the neighbouring chateau was not unlikeablc. His some¬what wily demeanour was inherent in his subordinate station, for he was a subordinate who knew himself to be more intelligent than his masters.
For the neighbouring seigneur’s family his intervention had been a real godsend, but Angelique knew that the steward’s self-interest alone was at the root of his generosity and his aid. That pleased her, removing as it did any scruple of considering herself under an obligation to him or owing him any humiliating gratitude. She was surprised, however, by the genuine sympathy that this calculating Huguenot commoner inspired in her.
‘It’s because he is creating something new, something solid, perhaps,’ she thought suddenly.
On the other hand, she was far from ready to form a part of the steward’s projects, like a she-donkey or an ingot of lead.
“Monsieur Molines,” she said flatly, “my father has spoken to me seriously of a marriage that you appear to have arranged for me with a certain Comte de Peyrac. In view of the very considerable influence you have acquired over my father during the last years, I cannot doubt that you too attach great importance to this marriage, that is to say that I am called upon to play a part in your business dealings. I should very much like to know precisely what part.”
HI
A cold smile stretched die steward’s narrow lips.
“I thank Heaven that I have found you as you promised to become when the people hereabout called you the Litde Fairy of the Marshes. In fact, I promised the Comte de Peyrac a lovely and intelligent wife.”
“A rash commitment. I might have turned out ugly and stupid, and that would have gready harmed your trade as a procurer.”
“I never commit myself on a mere presumption. I had news of you repeatedly through contacts I have in Poitiers, and I myself saw you during last year’s procession there.”
“So you had me watched,” cried Angelique furiously, “like a melon ripening under glass!”
At the same time, the picture struck her as so funny that she burst out laughing and her anger subsided. At heart, she preferred to know where she stood rather than to let herself be trapped like some silly little goose.
“If I wanted to indulge in the language of your society,” said Molines gravely, “I might confine myself to traditional considerations: a girl, a very young one, too, has no need to know why her parents choose this or that husband for her. The lead and silver business, trade and Customs, do not come within the province of women, especially of noble ladies. . . . Even less so does the business of animal breeding. But I blow you, Angelique, and I shall not talk to you in this fashion.”
She was not shocked by this familiar attitude.
“Why do you think you can talk to me differently than to my father?”
“That is difficult to put into words, Mademoiselle. I am not a philo¬sopher, and my studies have consisted above all in practical experience. Forgive me for being very frank, but there’s something I want to tell you. The people of your world will never be able to understand what spurs merit’s work."
“Peasants work even harder, I should have thought.”
“They drudge, that’s not the same thing. They are dull, ignorant and don’t realise their own interests, just like the nobility who, for their part, do not produce anything. The latter are useless creatures, except when it comes to waging destructive wars. Your father is beginning to do some¬thing useful but, if you will forgive me, he will never understand the meaning of work."
“You think he will not succeed?” said the girl, suddenly alarmed. “I thought his business was doing nicely, and that your interest in it was the proof of it.” •
“Proof of it would be, more than anything else, that we produced several thousand mules a year, and the second and most important proof
would be that the enterprise yielded a substantial and increasing income: that is the real sign of a business that’s doing well.”
44Well, isn’t that what we’ll achieve some day?”
44No, because stock-breeding, even on a large scale and supported by capital for bad times—sickness or wars—still remains stock-breeding. It’s like husbandry, a tedious business that yields little. Besides, neither tilling nor breeding has ever really produced riches for anyone: remember the example of the enormous herds of the shepherds in the Bible, who yet lived most frugally.”
44If that is your conviction, I fail to understand, Monsieur Molines, why you, who are so cautious, have thrown yourself into this slow and relatively unprofitable business.”
“That, Mademoiselle, is where your father and I have need of you.”
“I surely cannot help to make your she-donkeys foal twice as quickly.” “You can help us to double our income.”
“I cannot see how.”
“You will easily grasp my idea. What matters in a profitable business is quick returns, but since we cannot change the laws of God, we must turn to account the feebleness of the mind of man. Thus it is that the mule business is mere window-dressing. It covers our expenses, puts us on excellent terms with the Quartermaster-General’s department, to which we sell hides and pack-animals. Our mules enable us above all to travel freely, exempt from Customs or toll dues, and to put heavily laden caravans on to the roads. We thus despatch, with a quota of mules, lead and silver for shipment to England. On their way back the mules carry sacks of black slag which we christen ‘flux’, necessary products for mine¬working, but which are in fact gold and silver, and come straight from warring Spain via London.”
“I no longer follow you, Monsieur Molines. Why do you send silver to London if it is to be brought back afterwards?”
“I bring back double or triple the quantity. As for the gold, the Comte de Peyrac owns a gold-mine in Languedoc. When the mine of the Argenticre is his, the exchanges I shall transact for him on these two precious metals will no longer seem in any way suspicious, since both gold and silver will be coming of ficially from the two mines he owns. Therein consists our real business. For, understand this: the gold and silver that can be mined in France amounts to very little; on the other hand, we can get into the country, without tax, toll or Customs dues, a great quantity of Spanish gold and silver. The ingots I present to the money-changers do not talk. They cannot confess that instead of coming from Argentiere or Languedoc they actually come from Spain by way of London. Thus,
ИЗ
while passing on a legal profit to the Treasury, we can, under cover of mining work, import a substantial quantity of precious metals without paying labour or taxes, and without ruining ourselves by extensive installations, for no one can guess how much we produce here and they must trust the figures we declare/*
“But if this traffic is discovered, isn’t there a risk it may send you to the galleys?”
“We don’t manufacture counterfeit coins, nor have we any intention of ever doing so. On the contrary, we regularly supply the Royal Treasury with good, sound gold and silver bullion which the Treasury checks, stamps and mints. But once the mines of Argendere and Languedoc are united under the same name, we shall then be able, under cover of these tiny national extractions, to make rapid profits on the precious metals from Spain. That country is crammed with gold and silver shipped from the Americas; Spain has lost all taste for work and lives entirely by bartering its raw materials with other countries. The banks of London serve as their intermediaries. Spain is both the richest and the most wretched country in the world. As for France, these commercial tran¬sactions, which poor economic management prevent her from carrying out in the open, will enrich her almost in spite of herself. And they’ll enrich us, too, for the sums invested will bring a quicker and more substantial return than the marketing of the she-asses, which require ten months for gestation and don’t yield more than ten per cent at most on the invested capital.”
Angelique could not help being fascinated by these ingenious plans.
“And what do you plan to do with the lead?”
“Lead has a very good yield. It’s needed for warfare and for hunting. It has grown even more valuable these last years since the Queen Mother sent for Florentine engineers to complete the installation of bathrooms in all her residences, as her mother-in-law, Catherine of Medici, had already done before her. You must have seen a model of one of those rooms at the Chateau of Plessis, with its Roman bath and all its lead pipes.”
“Does your master, the Marquis, know of these various projects?”
“No,” said Molines with an indulgent smile. “He would not under¬stand anything about them, and the least he’d do would be to remove me from my of fice as steward of his domains, even though I perform my duties to his complete satisfaction.”
“And how much does my father know of your trafficking in gold and silver?”
“I thought that the mere fact of knowing that Spanish metals travel over his estates would displease him. Is it not preferable to let him believe that
the small revenues that ensure his living are the fruit of honest and traditional toil?”
Angflique felt shocked by the somewhat disdainful irony that pierced through the steward’s tone of voice. She said dryly:
“And why am I entitled to hear you disclose your underhand schemes?”
“I know that you will kick against the traces as long as you cannot understand the reason for them. The problem is a simple one, in fact. The Comte de Peyrac needs Argentiere. And your father won’t give up this plot unless it serves to establish one of his daughters. You know how obstinate he is. He will never sell a scrap of his patrimony. The Comte de Peyrac, on the other hand, being desirous to marry into a family of good nobility, has found the combination to his advantage.”
“And if I refuse to share his views?”
“You do not wish your father to be imprisoned for debts,” said the steward slowly. “It wouldn’t take much to reduce you all to even greater poverty than was once your lot. And what would be your own future? You’d grow old in squalor, like your aunts. . . . For your brothers and younger sisters it would mean lack of education, and later the need to go abroad for a livelihood. . . .”
Seeing the girl’s eyes sparkle with anger, he added in an ingratiating voice:
“But why force me to sketch such a black picture? I thought you were made of a different stamp from those noblemen who are content with a coat-of-arms for their only sustenance and who live of f the King’s alms. . . . You can’t get out of difficulties without grasping them resolutely and doing your share. That means you must act. That’s why I have not concealed anything from you, so that you shall know how to apply your efforts.”
No words could have touched Angelique more directly. Nobody had ever spoken to her in a way more closely in line with her character. She straightened up as if under the lash of a whip. She recalled Monteloup in ruins, her young brothers and sisters wallowing in the dung, her mother with fingers reddened by the cold, and her father seated at his small desk, carefully writing a petition to the King, who had never answered. . . .
The steward had pulled them out of their wretchedness. Now the time had come to pay.
“Very well, Monsieur Molines,” she said in a toneless voice. “I shall marry the Comte de Peyrac.”