Angelique - Part 2. Marriage in Toulouse Chapter 1 - Read online

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,
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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.”