CHAPTER IV

THE DECLARATION OF CAMUS

Javotte, when she left the Rue Picpus, took her way to the Rue de Valois. It will be remembered that Camille Fontrailles had slept at the Dubarrys’ house in the Rue de Valois, and as Javotte was now in her service, she had to follow her mistress.

Immediately on Rochefort quitting her that morning, she had gone to the Rue de Valois, helped her mistress to dress, and then slipped out on her mission to Rochefort’s rooms, where she had first met Lavenne.

Troubled in mind at not having made a clear breast of the affair about Choiseul’s letter, and feeling sure that Lavenne would be the best person to help Rochefort in that matter, she had slipped out again at half-past six. She was now returning to help her mistress to dress for the evening.

An ordinary girl, knowing that the Dubarrys were the enemies of Choiseul, would have put the letter in their hands; but Javotte had a mind of her own, and a knowledge of Court life, and the Dubarrys in particular, which prevented her from putting the slightest trust in any person belonging to the Court, and more especially in the Dubarrys.

She knew that were they to use the letter against Choiseul, they would do so in their own interests, not in the interests of Rochefort. How right she was in this, we shall presently see.

When she arrived at the Hôtel Dubarry, she found the house _en fête_. The Countess was not there, she was still at Versailles, but Chon and Jean were in evidence, and they were receiving friends to supper; and amongst those friends, who should be first and foremost but Count Camus. The man who had engineered, or partly engineered, the plot against the presentation was among the first to call on Jean that day to congratulate him on the success of the Countess. Jean had received him with open arms. Nothing pleased Jean better now than to smooth things over, and make up to the Choiseul faction. The Countess had triumphed; she had beaten Choiseul, and she would break him. The duel was not over by any means, but she had scored the first hit, and it was politic to smile on Choiseul and his followers, just as Choiseul and his followers had found it politic to kiss her hand on the night of her triumph.

“Come to supper this evening, my dear fellow,” said Jean. “I am expecting one or two people. Madame de Duras and a few others. Have I heard about Rochefort?—no, what about him?”

Camus told, in a few words, of Rochefort’s crimes, and of how he had escaped the night before just as he, Camus, had laid his hand upon him in the name of Choiseul.

“I always said he was a mad fool,” replied Jean; “and has he escaped for good?”

“Oh, _mon Dieu_, no,” said Camus, “not whilst there is a frontier. Choiseul is scouring the roads, Paris is watched, and a reward of a thousand louis is offered for him, dead or alive.”

“Well, if he is taken dead, we will be saved from his future _gasconades_,” said Jean.

“I would sooner he were taken alive,” replied Camus, “for I have a very particular desire to see that gentleman hanged; and hanged he will be, if I know anything of the mind of Choiseul.”

Jean Dubarry showed Camus out, and opened the door for him with his own hand. He would not have minded the hanging of Rochefort in the least, if Rochefort could only be hanged before he could speak his mind and tell his tale; but he greatly dreaded the catching of Rochefort by Choiseul, and comforted himself with the thought that Rochefort must now be in the safe custody of the governor of Vincennes.

At eight o’clock, the first of the guests arrived in the person of Madame de Duras. Chon Dubarry and Camille Fontrailles were waiting to receive her, and Jean entered just as Camus was announced; on the heels of Camus came M. de Joyeuse, a young fop and spendthrift, and scarcely had he entered when the wheels of Madame d’Harlancourt’s carriage were heard in the courtyard. She came in with M. d’Estouteville, whom she had brought with her.

Jean Dubarry was as pleased to receive d’Estouteville as he had been to welcome Camus. Nothing could underscore the Countess’s success more deeply than the evident anxiety of these members of the Choiseul faction to be well with her.

“_Mordieu_!” said Jean to himself, “Choiseul himself will be coming next—well, let us wait and see.”

He was in the highest spirits, complimenting Madame d’Harlancourt on her appearance, jesting with Joyeuse, with a word for everyone except Camus, who was deep in conversation with Camille Fontrailles.

“Ah, mademoiselle,” Camus was saying, “it seems an age since I met you at Monsieur de Choiseul’s, and yet, by the almanac, it was only the other night.”

“Why, monsieur, since that night so many things have happened, that the time may well seem long—the Presentation, for instance.”

“Ah, yes, the Presentation,” said Camus, with a laugh. “We have all been deeply absorbed by that event.”

“Deeply,” said Camille.

“You are a friend of the Countess, mademoiselle?”

“Absolutely, monsieur.”

“Well,” said Camus, with an air of the greatest ingenuousness, “I have not been her friend. I have never been her enemy, still, I must confess I have not been her friend in the strict sense of the word. Court life is like a game of chess, and I daresay you are aware that, during the last few days, a great game of chess has been going forward between my friend Choiseul and the Countess. I was on Choiseul’s side all through it; I even helped in some of the moves. She won, and I must say her courage has made me her admirer.”

“And not her friend?”

“Mademoiselle, I am the friend of Monsieur de Choiseul, and I do not easily separate myself from my friends. Still, I am content to remain his friend, and yet to stand aside and take no part in any further move that he may make against the Countess.”

“And why, monsieur, do you impose this inaction upon yourself?”

“Simply for this reason. I cannot take an active part in any move against a person who is a friend of yours.”

“And why not, monsieur?”

“Ah, you ask me a question now that is very difficult to answer.”

“How so?”

“Because the reply may make you angry.”

“Then you had better not answer the question, monsieur.”

“On the contrary, it is better to say what is in my mind, since to leave it unsaid would be an act of cowardice, and it is better that we should both know a secret that is tormenting me like fire. I cannot act against a friend of yours, simply for this reason—I have learned to love you.”

He had risen before finishing the sentence, and at the last word, bowing profoundly, he moved away to where Jean, de Joyeuse and Madame d’Harlancourt were talking together, and joined in their conversation. Camille followed him with her eyes. He had attracted her at the ball, his action against Madame Dubarry had turned her against him, his frank confession of the part he had taken had somewhat modified her resentment, his declaration that in future he would remain neutral had modified it still more; his declaration of love had stunned her.

He was a married man.

The thing amounted to an insult, yet she did not feel insulted, nor did she feel angry; her being was stirred to its depths for the first time in her life. Unconscious of the fact that a declaration of love from Camus had about as much meaning as a declaration of pity from a tiger, or perhaps half-conscious of it, she was held now by the mesmerism of the man, and sat watching him as he conversed with the others; till Madame de Duras, coming up to her, broke the spell.

At supper, her eyes kept continually meeting those of Camus, and she was half conscious of the fact that a wordless conversation was going on between her almost unwilling mind and the mind of the Count.

Men like Camus do most of their murderous work against women without speech. They have the art of making women think about them, and they know that they have the art.

Camus all that evening kept aloof from the girl to whom he had made his declaration of love. He wore a brooding and meditative air at times. He knew that she was observing him closely, and he acted the part of the eternal lover to perfection.

Yet, despite his acting, he was desperately in earnest.

When the card-tables were being set out, it was found that Camille had vanished from the room. She did not appear again that night.