CHAPTER XIII.

THE ONE HUNDRED LOUIS OF THE QUEEN.

Now we have introduced the princ.i.p.al characters of this history to our readers, and have taken them both into the "pet.i.te maison" of the Comte d'Artois and into the king's palace at Versailles, we will return to that house in the Rue St. Claude where we saw the queen enter incognito with Mademoiselle Andree de Taverney.

We left Madame de la Motte counting over and delighted with her fifty double louis; next to the pleasure of having them, she knew no greater than that of displaying them, and having no one else, she called Dame Clotilde, who was still in the ante-chamber.

When she entered, "Come and look here!" said her mistress.

"Oh, madame!" cried the old woman, clasping her hands in astonishment.

"You were uneasy about your wages," said the countess.

"Oh, madame! I never said that; I only asked madame if she could pay me, as I had received nothing for three months."

"Do you think there is enough there to pay you?"

"Oh! madame, if I had all that, I should be rich for the rest of my life. But in what will madame spend all that?"

"In everything."

"The first thing, I think, madame, will be to furnish the kitchen, for you will have good dinners cooked now."

"Listen!" said Madame de la Motte; "someone knocks."

"I did not hear it," said the old woman.

"But I tell you that I did; so go at once." She hastily gathered up her money, and put it into a drawer, murmuring, "Oh! if Providence will but send me another such a visitor." Then she heard the steps of a man below, but could not distinguish what he said. Soon however, the door opened, and Clotilde came in with a letter.

The countess examined it attentively, and asked, "Was this brought by a servant?"

"Yes, madame."

"In livery?"

"No, madame."

"I know these arms, surely," said Jeanne to herself. "Who can it be from? but the letter will soon show for itself;" and opening it, she read: "Madame, the person to whom you wrote will see you to-morrow evening, if it be agreeable to you to remain at home for that purpose;"

and that was all. "I have written to so many people," thought the countess. "Is this a man or a woman? The writing is no guide, nor is the style; it might come from either. Who is it that uses these arms? Oh! I remember now--the arms of the Rohans. Yes, I wrote to M. de Guemenee, and to M. de Rohan; it is one of them: but the shield is not quartered--it is therefore the cardinal. Ah! Monsieur de Rohan, the man of gallantry, the fine gentleman, and the ambitious one; he will come to see Jeanne de la Motte, if it be agreeable to her. Oh, yes! M. de Rohan, it is very agreeable. A charitable lady who gives a hundred louis may be received in a garret, freeze in my cold room, and suffer on my hard chair; but a clerical prince, a lady's man, that is quite another thing.

We must have luxury to greet him."

Then, turning to Clotilde, who was getting her bed ready, she said: "Be sure to call me early to-morrow morning;" and when she did retire to rest, so absorbed was she in her expectations and plans, that it was nearly three o'clock before she fell asleep; nevertheless, she was quite ready when Dame Clotilde called her according to her directions early in the morning, and had finished her toilet by eight o'clock, although this day it consisted of an elegant silk dress, and her hair was elaborately dressed.

She sent Clotilde for a coach, and ordered the man to drive to the Place Royale, where, under one of the arcades, was the shop of M. Fingret, an upholsterer and decorator, and who had furniture always ready for sale or hire.

She entered his immense show-rooms, of which the walls were hung with different tapestries, and the ceiling completely hidden by the number of chandeliers and lamps that hung from it. On the ground were furniture, carpets, and cornices of every fashion and description.

CHAPTER XIV.

M. FINGRET.

Madame de la Motte, looking at all this, began to perceive how much she wanted. She wanted a drawing-room to hold sofas and lounging-chairs; a dining-room for tables and sideboards; and a boudoir for Persian curtains, screens, and knick-knacks; above all, she wanted the money to buy all these things. But in Paris, whatever you cannot afford to buy, you can hire; and Madame de la Motte set her heart on a set of furniture covered in yellow silk, with gilt nails, which she thought would be very becoming to her dark complexion. But this furniture she felt sure would never go into her rooms on the fifth story; it would be necessary to hire the third, which was composed of an ante-chamber, a dining-room, small drawing-room, and bedroom, so that she might, she thought, receive on this third story the visits of the cardinal, and on the fifth those of ladies of charity--that is to say, receive in luxury those who give from ostentation, and in poverty those who only desire to give when it is needed.

The countess, having made all these reflections, turned to where M.

Fingret himself stood, with his hat in his hand, waiting for her commands.

"Madame?" said he in a tone of interrogation, advancing towards her.

"Madame la Comtesse de la Motte Valois," said Jeanne.

At this high-sounding name M. Fingret bowed low, and said: "But there is nothing in this room worthy Madame la Comtesse's inspection. If madame will take the trouble to step into the next one, she will see what is new and beautiful."

Jeanne colored. All this had seemed so splendid to her, too splendid even to hope to possess it; and this high opinion of M. Fingret's concerning her perplexed her not a little. She regretted that she had not announced herself as a simple bourgeoise; but it was necessary to speak, so she said, "I do not wish for new furniture."

"Madame has doubtless some friend's apartments to furnish?"

"Just so," she replied.

"Will madame, then, choose?" said M. Fingret, who did not care whether he sold new or old, as he gained equally by both.

"This set," said Jeanne, pointing to the yellow silk one.

"That is such a small set, madame."

"Oh, the rooms are small."

"It is nearly new, as madame may see."

"But the price?"

"Eight hundred francs."

The price made the countess tremble; and how was she to confess that a countess was content with second-hand things, and then could not afford to pay eight hundred francs for them? She therefore thought the best thing was to appear angry, and said: "Who thinks of buying, sir? Who do you think would buy such old things? I only want to hire."

Fingret made a grimace; his customer began gradually to lose her value in his eyes. She did not want to buy new things, only to hire old ones, "You wish it for a year?" he asked.

"No, only for a month. It is for some one coming from the country."

"It will be one hundred francs a month."