CHAPTER XVIII

THE RETURN

The day of his return to Paris, just as he was taking off his boots, getting ready to go to Versailles, in great haste to approach the king, he was called upon by the Baron of Ugeon, a relative of Madame Soubise. Accompanied by two seconds, this gentleman came to demand satisfaction for the discourtesy which the Marquis had shown towards Madame Rohan Soubise at her hotel.

Very much astonished at this revengefulness, for which there was no reason, Monsieur de Létorière, without declining the challenge, declared that having ridden post from Vienna to see the king, his master, for the last time, who was said to be dying, he could consent to fight only after having fulfilled this sacred duty.

The bravery of the Marquis was so well known, that his proposition could not be rejected. It was settled that when he was ready for the meeting, the seconds should inform Monsieur d'Ugeon.

After begging Dominique to go to the Abbey of Montmartre, and carry a letter from him to the princess Julie, the Marquis started for Versailles.

Louis XV. was dying with the confluent small-pox.

This terrible malady, so rapidly contagious, and which left such frightful traces, had caused great alarm in the court. Létorière found the small rooms occupied by the dying king almost deserted. The panic was much greater, as vaccination was not then known. Even the officers on duty were hardly to be found at their posts. Louis XV. had strictly forbidden the dauphin and the other princes and princesses to enter his apartment, for fear of exposing the royal family to the fatal contagion. The Viscount of T***, one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber, then on duty, was in the room next to that of the king, when Létorière arrived, pale and agitated.

The Marquis, forgetting court etiquette in this dreadful moment, was about to raise the curtain of the king's chamber, when the viscount hurriedly advanced, and said in a low voice, laying his hand upon the Marquis's arm:

"Stop, sir, you have not the _entrée_ to his majesty's chamber."

"It is said, sir, that the king is almost deserted by his attendants; they fear contagion. . . . If it be true that death reigns in this chamber, one can brave all etiquette to enter it," said Létorière, bitterly, and he made a movement to enter.

"Once more, you cannot go into the presence of his majesty, sir," replied the Viscount T***. "I am not sure that he will consent to receive you."

"Go, then, and ask him, sir; the king will not refuse the services of one whom he has always loaded with favors."

The proposition to enter the king's chamber seemed to frighten Monsieur T***, who haughtily answered the Marquis, still in a low voice:

"I receive orders only from the first gentleman-in-waiting, sir."

At that instant a feeble voice, well known to both who heard it, asked:

"Who is there? Who is speaking in whispers?"

"It is the king! . . . He has heard you, sir. You are responsible for the consequences of this," said Monsieur T***; and he replied aloud: "Will his majesty deign to excuse me if I answer him without entering? but I only execute his formal orders. The person who is here, Sire, is . . ."

"'Tis Létorière, who supplicates the king to be permitted to approach him," said the marquis aloud, interrupting M. T***.

"Indeed, . . . is it you, my child? You have returned, then?" cried Louis XV., in a tone of great pleasure. Then reflecting that he should expose the Marquis to the danger of contagion in permitting him to enter his chamber, he added:

"No . . . no . . . the air of this apartment is fatal . . . don't come in; I forbid it." . . .

"For the first time in my life I shall dare to disobey an order of the king. . . . But I have a duty to accomplish, and I will accomplish it," cried Létorière; and raising the curtain, he advanced towards the monarch's bed.

"Go out . . . go out this instant, ill-fated child!" cried the prince, raising himself to a sitting posture, and extending his hand towards the door with an imperious air.

But Létorière threw himself on the king's hand; which, despite his majesty's resistance, he kissed respectfully several times. Then he knelt near the bed, saying:

"May the king pardon my audacity . . . but there is now no longer any reason for forbidding my presence." . . .

"Go away . . . leave me;" replied Louis XV.

"Four years ago I was happier . . . the king deigned to allow me to kiss his royal hand in the garden of Versailles," said the Marquis, with an accent of filial veneration.

"But four years ago . . . my hand could not communicate a frightful disease . . . death, perhaps!" said the sovereign, much moved.

The courageous pertinacity of Létorière touched more deeply this excellent prince, because, save by some inside servants, he had been abandoned by nearly all the courtiers.

The high officials of the crown, whose duty it was to remain near his person, had obeyed only too faithfully his orders, which forbade them to stay.

The fine features of the king, disfigured by his disease, already indicated the approach of death. At this supreme moment the unfortunate dissensions, the threatening political agitation which had darkened the latter part of his reign, filled him with new anxieties. Létorière's noble devotion for a moment diverted his thoughts from these painful themes which saddened his last moments.

"You are a madman, . . . you deserve all my anger for daring to disobey me and expose yourself thus," . . . cried Louis XV., with an expression rather of grief than of wrath, and casting a tender look on Létorière, who, still kneeling near the bed, kept profound silence.

"Oh, may the king have pity on me! this may perhaps be the last time I can show him my gratitude."

"Again, I tell you this disease is contagious. . . . Do you not see that they have abandoned me . . . that I am alone . . . that I wish to be alone?" the prince hastened to add with bitterness, as if he wished to disguise from himself his first thought; the devotion of the Marquis made the ingratitude of the courtiers appear yet more shameful to him.

"Brave and noble heart!" added Louis XV., looking at the Marquis tenderly. "That hast no fear; thou art faithful!"

"Then let the king recompense my fidelity by granting me what he grants to no other person . . . the right to serve him, to remain near him!" . . . said Létorière, joining his hands in supplication.

"It must be so . . . now" . . . said Louis XV. Then he added, almost in despair: "But you are young! you are handsome! you are beloved! and all that you risk to come to me! all that you will sacrifice to me, perhaps, poor young man! . . . when so many others". . . and, after a moment of silence, Louis continued: "There is probably a crowd around the dauphin to salute the King, Louis XVI."

"Sire, what do you say?"

"That is the fate of kings when they are departing, my child. . . . Ah! if I had only oblivion, only death to dread! But France . . . France . . . what will become of her? And my grandson, what will his future be?" . . .

"Sire, France has named you the _Well-beloved_; for a long time you have borne that name, and his highness the dauphin will one day merit it." . . .

"I am not mistaken . . . I am feeble . . . I approach my end," . . . said the king, shaking his head sadly; "and then, I believe certain deaths are significant; the Marshal of Armantières, the Marquis of Chauvelin, have suddenly died before me . . . in my court. . . . It is a warning from heaven."

"Do not think of this, Sire. This illness is dangerous, but care . . ."

"Care is powerless,--I feel it; thus it is frightful for me to think that I have, perhaps, uselessly compromised your life . . . but now it is too late. Your imprudence . . . no, no, . . . your generous devotion has rendered all regret vain. . . . But tell me, I have heard with joy of the gaining of your lawsuit. Now, nothing can prevent your marriage with the princess Julie. . . . Oh! I have had to break many lances for you against the _Maréchale_ and against the House of Savoy," he added, with a kind smile. "I have been obliged to use all my authority to prevent them from shutting up Mademoiselle de Soissons in the convent of Montmartre."

"Ah! Sire, what goodness! you deign to think . . ."

"It is now or never; to-morrow, perhaps, it will be too late. . . . My only fear is, that when I am gone the princess Julie will not find a friend in my grandson. . . . But if God spares me a few days, I will advise her; it will be sweet to me to leave you as happy as you deserve to be, my dear child." . . .

* * * * * * *

The illness of the king made rapid and frightful progress. Létorière did not quit him for a moment. It would be impossible to tell with what tender, respectful, and touching cares he surrounded the dying monarch. The sight of the Marquis seemed to calm the pains of Louis XV. Several times he offered him his hand in silence, with a sweet expression of gratitude. Soon all hope of saving the prince vanished, and Létorière stood with fixed and mournful eyes at the moment of death, the end of the sovereign who had shown for him all the affection of a father. . . .