"You were not mistaken, dear sister," said she; "the duc de la Vrilliere is the bearer of the king's orders respecting you: but compose yourself, I beseech you.""Fear not," said I; "I am as calm as you would have me. Tell the vile dissembler, I mean the duke, I await him"M. Tartuffe was but a faint copy of <le petit saint> as he presented himself before me. His manners still retained part of their former servility, but there was a lurking smile about him, which proved how well he was pleased with the part he had to perform.
He approached me with lingering steps and an air of mysterious importance, while a sort of sardonic grin contradicted the sorrow he endeavored to force into his countenance. For my own part, I caused the folding-doors to be thrown open, and advancing ceremoniously, stood to receive the orders of the king. I bowed stiffly and silently; and, with something like a malicious satisfaction, I witnessed the embarrassment into which my cool and collected manner threw him.
"Madam," said he at last, "I have a painful duty to perform: in a word, I am the bearer of a <lettre de cachet>.""Well, sir! "said I, tranquilly.
"Madam, I must request you to believe how greatly I regret the task imposed upon me; but my duty and obedience to the king--""Would enable you to strangle your nearest relative. All that is well known; but, in the name of all that is base, cowardly, and unmanly, could no one but <you> be found to remind a distressed and afflicted woman that she has lost her only friend and support?""Madam, I repeat, obedience--necessity--""Enough, sir; I pity you."
"Madam, you outrage the king in my person.""No, sir; I respect the king too highly to believe that there could ever be any relation between him and one who is too contemptible to remind me that he was but a few days back the most cringing of my servile slaves."<Le petit saint>, boiling with rage, with an unsteady hand, unfolded and read, in a trembling voice, the following words:
"MADAME LA COMTESSE Du Barry,--For reasons, which have for their object the preservation of the tranquillity of my kingdom, and the prevention of any state secrets confided to you being promulgated, I send this order for your immediate removal to <Pont aux Dames>, accompanied by one female attendant only, and under the escort of the exempt who has the necessary orders. This measure is by no means intended to be either disagreeable or of long duration. I therefore pray God to have you in his holy keeping,"(Signed) Louis.""That, madam," continued the duke, " is his majesty's pleasure, and you have nothing to do but to submit.""Your advice was not asked, my lord," returned I; "I honor and obey the king's slightest wish, but your presence is no longer requisite; you will therefore be pleased to rid me of it."The duke, resuming his air of mock humility, bowed low, and departed.
When I was alone, I must confess a few tears escaped me, but Isoon wiped them away; my resolution was taken.
The duchesse d'Aiguillon and my female friends hastened to question me relative to the duke's visit. I showed them the <lettre de cachet>, which confirmed the misfortune they had suspected from seeing Hamond, who was to be my escort, waiting in the anteroom to conduct me to the abbey of <Pont aux Dames>, near Meaux, the place of my exile. They all evinced the utmost sorrow, and both Chon and my niece protested that with the king's permission, they would willingly attend me in my seclusion. I felt grateful for this mark of attachment; then sending for the exempt, Iinquired whether I might be allowed sufficient time to write a letter, and cause a few necessary preparations to be made?
"Madam, I replied he, "my only orders are to accompany you to <Pont aux Dames>, the hour of departure is left to yourself."I then penned a few hasty lines to the king, indicative of my wishes for the happiness and prosperity of his reign, of my ready obedience to his commands, and of my earnest wishes that my sister-in-law and niece might be permitted to visit me. This letter I was promised should be punctually delivered. I had now the painful duty to perform of choosing between Henriette and Genevieve, as only one attendant was allowed me at <Pont aux Dames>. Henriette pleaded her claim as my servant, while the excellent Genevieve timidly urged her early friendship.
"Let chance decide it," cried I. They drew lots, and Genevieve was selected.
We reached Pont aux Dames in the middle of the night; it was a miserable looking place, which took its date from the time of Saint Louis or Charlemagne for ought I know. What a contrast met my eyes between this ruinous old building, its bare walls, wooden seats, and gloomy casements, and the splendor of Versailles or Choisy; all my firmness forsook me, I threw myself weeping into the arms of Genevieve.
A courier-had announced my intended arrival, and I found all the good sisters impatient to see me. What eager curiosity did the pious nuns evince to behold one of whom they had heard so much even in their quiet retreat, and how many questions had I to reply to from those who had the courage to address me. Alas! I, of all the throng assembled, was the most anxious for quiet and solitude.
I was lodged in the best apartments, which, however magnificent the good people of <Pont aux Dames> might consider them, were not on a par with the granaries of Lucienne. But complaint was useless, and I could only resign myself to what was offered me.
End
