"Nom de diable!" whispered St. Aulaire to Calvert, deathly pale and almost ready to faint from consternation. "You have ruined me!" He managed to make a step forward and sank down before the King, who glowered at him.

"'Twas but a plaisanterie, Your Majesty!" and if such a jest, with a king for the b.u.t.t, seems incredible, let one remember that already Louis had been refused his cour pleniere and the Queen lampooned and hissed at the theatre.

"Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire, we have heard before of your plaisanteries," said Louis, his light-blue eyes flashing more wrathfully than one could have believed possible, the red heels of his shoes clicking together, and his heavy figure bent forward menacingly, "but this audacity pa.s.ses belief. The court of Louis the Sixteenth needs no jester. For a season you can be spared attendance upon us. Your estates in Brittany doubtless need your presence. This unpardonable levity, Monsieur," he went on, severely, "contrasts strangely with the att.i.tude and language of this American subject," and he bowed slightly to Calvert as he turned away.

St. Aulaire, pallid with consternation, stretched out an imploring hand to the King. "Your Majesty," he said, "'twas but a thoughtless jest, too idle to be believed or repeated. Will Your Majesty not deign to remember that St. Aulaire's life and sword have been ever at Your Majesty's service?"

As the prostrate n.o.bleman began to speak, the King hesitated, turned back, and looked perplexedly at him. As he gazed, a look of indecision, of distaste and weariness, crept into his countenance. All the pa.s.sion, dignity, and just anger which had lit it up faded away. The brief revelation of majesty was quenched, and the customary commonplace, vacant, good-natured expression held sway once more.

"Rise, Monsieur de St. Aulaire," he said, wearily. "We forgive you this unfortunate plaisanterie, since its execrable taste carries with it its own worst punishment. But be careful, sir, how you offend again!" With a last glance of warning, which, however, had lost its severity, the King turned away, followed by the Due de Broglie, and, seeking the Queen, their Majesties retired very shortly.

With the Queen's withdrawal, all the zest and animation of the function disappeared, too, and Mr. Calvert, wearying of the brilliant company, determined to leave the scene and stroll through the gardens. He descended by the Grand Escalier des Amba.s.sadeurs, up which he had come, and, pa.s.sing out through the Marble Court, quickly found himself on the broad terrace beneath the windows of the Gallery of Mirrors. From this, marble steps led down to a beautiful parterre, below which the Fountain of Latona played in the white moonlight. Standing on the terrace, Calvert could see the marble nymph through the mist of spray flung upon her from the hideous gaping mouths of the gilded frogs lying along the edge of the basin. 'Twas the story of Jupiter's wrath against the Lyceans which the sculptor had told, and Calvert remembered it out of his Ovid. Beyond this lovely fountain the green level of the tapis vert fell away to the great Ba.s.sin d'Appollon, where the sun-G.o.d disported himself among his Tritons, the foamy tops of the great jets of water blown from their sh.e.l.l-trumpets rising high in the air and scattered into spray by the night wind.

It was a scene not to be forgotten, and Mr. Calvert stood gazing at it a long while--at the softly playing fountains and the sombre bosquets and the sculptured groups on every hand, showing faintly in the moonlight.

Fauns and satyrs peeped from the dense foliage. Here there showed a Venus sculptured in some Ionian isle before ever Caesar and his cohorts had pressed the soil of Gallia beneath their Roman sandals; there, a Ganymede or a Ceres or a Minerva gleamed wan and beautiful; beneath an ilex-tree a Bacchus leaned lightly on his marble thyrsus. It seemed as if all the hierarchy of Olympus had descended to dwell in this royal pleasure-ground at the bidding of the Roi Soleil.

Filled with the unrivalled beauty of the scene, Calvert at length turned away and, pa.s.sing down the great flight of marble steps leading to the Orangery, slowly made his way into the park. The shadows were so dense here that the statues looked ghostly in the dim light. Now and then he could hear a low laugh and catch the flutter of a silken gown along the shadowy walks, or the glint of a stray moonbeam on a silver sword. He strolled about, scarcely knowing whither, guided by the sound of splashing water, and coming upon many a beautiful spot in his solitary ramble, among them that famous Bosquet de la Reine where the scoundrelly, frightened Rohan had sworn the Queen had stooped to him. He pa.s.sed by the place, all unconscious of its unhappy history, and so on down a broad pathway toward the tapis vert.

As he walked slowly along, charmed with the beauty of the scene around him, and smiling now and again to think that fortune should have placed him in the midst of such unaccustomed splendors, he suddenly heard the sounds of a lute near him, fingered in tentative accord, and an instant later he recognized St. Aulaire's voice.

"'Twas written for you, Madame, and 'tis called 'Le Pays du Tendre,'" he said, still fingering the strings. "I would wander in the land with you, Madame." Suddenly he begins to sing softly, and, in the silence and perfume of the summer night, his hushed voice sounded like a caress:

Land of the madrigal and ode, Of rainbow air and cloudless weather, Tell me what ferny, elfin road Will lead my eager footsteps thither.

Tricked out with gems shall I go hither?

Or in a carriage a la mode, Land of the madrigal and ode, Of rainbow air and cloudless weather?

Or in the garb by Love bestow'd?

With roses crown'd and sprigs of heather, With mandolin and dart enbow'd Shall Cupid and I go together-- Land of the madrigal and ode, Of rainbow air and cloudless weather?

As the last tinkling notes of the lute died away, Calvert was about to go, but he was suddenly startled by hearing a faint scream. Turning quickly and noiselessly in the direction from which the sound seemed to have come, he found himself in an instant in a thick and beautiful bosquet. A double row of ilex-trees, inside of which ran a colonnade of white marble, completely encircled and shut in a cleared s.p.a.ce, in the centre of which bubbled a fountain. Into this secluded spot the moon, high in the heavens, shone with unclouded radiance, so that he saw, as clearly as though 'twere noonday, Madame de St. Andre standing at the edge of the basin, her lips white and parted in fear, one hand pressed against her throat, the other held roughly in the grasp of Monsieur de St. Aulaire, who knelt before her, his lute fallen at his side. The rose which she had worn in her hair had escaped from its diamond loop and lay upon the ground; the delicate gaze d'or of her dress was torn and crushed.

For an instant Calvert stood in the shadow of one of the Grecian columns and looked at the scene before him in sick amazement. So it was to Adrienne that St. Aulaire was singing love-songs in this isolated spot at midnight! As he hesitated, Monsieur de St. Aulaire rose from his knees.

"You did not always treat me with such contempt, Madame," he said, with a mocking laugh, "and by G.o.d, I have no mind to stand it now," and, putting one arm around her quivering shoulders and crushing in his the hand with which she would have pushed him from her, he leaned lightly over to kiss her.

As he did so, Calvert stepped quietly forward ('twas wonderful how, though he always seemed to move slowly, he was ever in the right place at the right time) and, seizing St. Aulaire by the collar, hurled him backward with such force that he fell heavily against one of the gleaming marble columns and lay, for an instant, stunned and motionless.

Feeling herself thus violently released from St. Aulaire's embrace, Adrienne sprang back, uttering a low cry and gazing in surprise at Calvert. The ease with which he had flung off the larger and heavier man aroused her wonder as well as her admiration, for she never imagined Calvert's slender, boyish figure to be possessed of so much brute strength, and, since the days of Hercules and Omphale, brute strength in man has ever appealed to woman. Before either of them could speak, St.

Aulaire struggled to his feet and, wrenching his dress sword from its sheath, staggered toward Calvert, thrusting wildly and ineffectually at him.

"Put up your sword, my lord," says Calvert, contemptuously, knocking up the silver blade with his own, which he had drawn. "We cannot fight with these toys. Should you wish to pursue this affair with swords or pistols, if you prefer the English mode, you know where to find me. And now, begone, sir!"

The quiet sternness with which the young man spoke filled Adrienne with fresh wonder and something like fear. She glanced from Calvert's face, with its look of calm authority, to St. Aulaire's convulsed countenance.

The n.o.bleman's face, usually so debonair, was now white and seamed with anger. All the hidden evil traits of his soul came out and stamped themselves visibly on his countenance, in that heat of pa.s.sion, like characters written in a secret ink and brought near a flame.

"Monsieur l'Americain," he said, lowering his point and coming up quite close to Calvert, "Monsieur, you have a trick of being d.a.m.nably mal apropos. I have had a lesson from you in skating and one in singing, but I need none in love-making. My patience--never very great, I fear--is at an end, sir! This intrusion, Monsieur l'Americain, is unpardonable,"

he went on, recovering his composure with a great effort, "unpardonable--unless, indeed, Monsieur hoped to gain what I have just lost," he added, smiling his brilliant, insolent smile, though he had to half-kneel for support upon the marble edge of the fountain.

"Silence!" said Calvert, his white face filled with such sudden horror and disgust that Monsieur de St. Aulaire burst out laughing.

"A poor compliment to you, Madame," he said to Adrienne.

At the words and the mocking laughter, Calvert's wrath blazed up uncontrollably. He went over to St. Aulaire, where he knelt on the basin, and, catching him again by the collar, shook him to and fro without mercy.

"Another word, sir, and I will toss you into this fountain with the hope that you break your head against the bottom! And now, go!"

The water in the marble basin was not very deep, but St. Aulaire did not covet a ducking--'twould be too good a theme for jests at his expense; and though he could still laugh and talk insolently, he felt weak and in no condition to prevent Calvert from carrying out his threat. Retreat seemed to be all left to him. With a sour smile he got upon his feet, and, making an elaborate courtesy to Madame de St. Andre, pa.s.sed through the colonnade from the bosquet.

When he had quite disappeared, Calvert turned to the young girl. She still stood by the bubbling fountain, pale between anger and fright, one hand yet pressed against her throat, the other clenched and hanging by her side. At her feet the white rose lay crushed and unheeded. As Calvert looked at the wilful, beautiful girl before him, he comprehended for the first time that he loved her--loved and mistrusted her. The shock of surprise that this cruel conviction brought with it held him rooted to the spot for an instant. Love had ever been a vague dream to him, but certainly no woman could be further from his ideal than this brilliant, volatile, worldly creature.

A smile rippled over her face, to which the color was gradually returning.

"Well done, sir! I am only sorry you did not drop him into the fountain, as you threatened. 'Twould have been a light enough punishment, and, for once, we should have had the pleasure of seeing Monsieur de St. Aulaire in something besides his customary immaculate attire!" and she laughed faintly.

As for Calvert, he could not reply to her light banter, but stood looking at her in silence.

"Well, sir, why do you look at me so?" demanded Adrienne, petulantly, after an instant. "Have you nothing to say? But, indeed, I know you have! I can see you are dying to rebuke me for this indiscretion--this stroll with Monsieur de St. Aulaire!" and she gave him a mutinous side glance and tapped the gravel with her satin slipper. "One who dares express himself so frankly before the King will not hesitate to say his mind to a woman!"

"Ah, Madame, I fear, indeed, that you can never forgive me for having betrayed my republican sentiments so freely in the presence of your monarch--unconscious though I was of doing so."

"Oh, no, Monsieur, you mistake," said Adrienne, maliciously. "I can forgive you for having betrayed your republican sentiments, but I can never forgive the King for not having properly rebuked them!"

At these words Calvert let his gaze rest on the haughty face before him for a moment, and then, making a profound obeisance, he said, quietly:

"When you are quite ready, Madame, permit me to escort you back to the palace." He spoke with such formality and dignity that Adrienne blushed scarlet and bit her lips.

"Before I accept Monsieur Calvert's escort, I wish to explain--" but Calvert interrupted her.

"No explanation is necessary, Madame, surely," he said, a little wearily.

She blushed yet more deeply and raised her head imperiously. "You are right, Monsieur. 'Tis not necessary, as you say, but I will accept no favor--not even a safe-conduct back to the palace--from one whose manner"--she hesitated, as if at a loss for words--"whose manner is an accusation. But though I am hurt, I should not be surprised by it, sir!"

she went on, advancing a step and drawing herself up proudly. "It has ever been your att.i.tude toward me. From that first night we met I have felt myself under the ban of your disapproval. Poor Monsieur de St.

Aulaire and I!" and she laughed mockingly.

"I pray you, Madame, do not name yourself in the same breath with that scoundrel!" said Calvert, in a low voice.

"And why not, Monsieur? We are both of the same world, we have both been brought up after the same fashion, we are probably much alike. Ah, Monsieur," she went on, defiantly, "is it the Quaker in you--Monsieur Jefferson has told me that your mother was a Quakeress--that makes you hate the world, the flesh, and the devil so? Is Paris, then, so much more wicked than your Virginia? Are we so different from the women of your world?" She went up to him and put her beautiful face close to his disturbed one. "Are _you_ so different from the men of our world, Monsieur, or is it only those grand yeux of yours, with their serious expression, that make you seem different--and better?" and her eyes smiled mockingly into his. "Pshaw, sir, you make me feel like a naughty school-girl when you reprove me so. Upon my word, I don't know why I submit to it! Though I am younger than you, sir, I feel a hundred years older in experience--and yet--and yet--there is something about you--"

She broke off and again tapped the gravel impatiently with her foot.

"I have said nothing, Madame." Calvert was quiet and unsmiling.

"No, Monsieur, 'tis that I most object to--you keep silence, but your eyes reprove me. Oh, I have seen you looking at me with that reproving glance many times when you did not know I saw it! Am I to blame, sir, for being of the great world of which you do not approve? Am I to be rebuked--even silently--for coming here with Monsieur de St. Aulaire, by _you_, Monsieur?" Suddenly she dropped her defiant tone and, leaning against the edge of the marble basin, looked intently and silently at the splashing water gleaming white in the moonlight.

"Can you not see?--Do you not understand, Monsieur?" she said at length, hurriedly, and in a low voice. "Do not misjudge me. I have been brought up in this court life, which is the life of intrigue and dissimulation and wickedness--yes, wickedness! We know nothing else. There is no one in our world so pure as to be above suspicion. The walls of this great palace, thick and ma.s.sive as they are, cannot keep out the whispers of calumny against the Queen herself. Is it so different in your country?

Sometimes I abhor this life and would hear of another. Sometimes I hate all this," she went on, speaking as if more to herself than to Calvert.

"As for Monsieur de St. Aulaire, I loathe him! I thank you, Monsieur, for ridding me of his presence. If I seemed ungrateful, believe me, I was not! 'Tis but my pride which stands no rebuke. But it is late! Will you do me the favor, Monsieur, of taking me back to the Galerie des Glaces?" She turned her eyes away from the fountain, at which she had gazed steadily while speaking, and looked at Calvert. He saw that they were full of tears. The mask was down again. There was an humbled, shamed expression on that lovely face usually so imperious. The look of appeal and distress went to his heart like a knife. She made him think of some brilliant bird cruelly wounded.

For an instant she looked at him so, and then resuming her imperious air with a palpable effort and forcing a smile to her lips, she gathered up her trailing gown and pa.s.sed slowly beneath the colonnade, Calvert following at her side. As she turned away, he stooped quickly and picked up the white rose she had worn where it had fallen on the path.