M. DE LAUZUN AND "MADEMOISELLE."

ON the line of rail to Orleans, two and a half leagues from Paris, is the station and village of Choisy le Roi. Of the enchanting abode once erected here, on the verge of grassy lawns bordering the Seine, nothing has been left by the revolution but a fragment of wall, built into a porcelain manufactory.

Choisy Mademoiselle, afterwards to be called by Louis XV. Choisy le Roi, was built by Mademoiselle de Montpensier, daughter of Gaston, Duc d'OrlÉans, under the advice of Le NÔtre. It was to serve as a summer retreat from the gloomy splendours of the Luxembourg; a folie where she might spend the summer heats, try her English horses, train her hounds, row on the river, tend her aviaries, and watch her flowers. Here, freed from all scrutiny, she could be imperious or devout, childish or solemn, vain or humble, as suited her fickle humour; here she could set traps to catch obstinate emperors who refused to wed, fast upon the most delicate morsels, bouder the Court when neglected by her Jupiter-cousin the King, and cultivate such remains of beauty as still lingered on her oval face and almond-shaped blue eyes.

At Choisy all was formal, to suit the taste of its mistress. The corps de logis, a pavilion in one story, a mass of lofty windows, was flanked on either side by conservatories and orangeries which masked the offices. Within, the entire south front was occupied by a gallery, with frescoed ceiling and cornice; the walls covered with crimson satin, on which hung the family portraits of La Grande Mademoiselle. Each name was written under each portrait, so that all persons looking on them might read the lofty lineage of this granddaughter of Henry the Great. At one extremity of the gallery was a chapel, at the other a writing-cabinet. Here, the victories and conquests of Louis XIV., painted in miniature, by Van der Meulen, were arranged. These miniatures also were inscribed with names and dates. A likeness of his Majesty on horseback, when a youth, hung over the chimney-piece. Beyond the writing-cabinet was a billiard-room, as well as a suite of private apartments devoted to the use of the Princess herself. Without, broad terraces were balanced by flights of steps, statues, vases, and trophies; jets d'eau rose out of marble basins, and precisely arranged flowers and orange-trees adorned the walks. There was a park of a hundred acres, with woods on either hand, trimmed to an exact resemblance of each other. Choisy, like its mistress, was in perpetual costume de Cour; nothing but the river, towards which the gardens sloped, was as nature had made it. Not even La Grande Mademoiselle could prevent the soft summer breezes from rippling its silvery current, the sun from playing vagrant pranks upon its wavelets, or the water-lilies from growing in wild profusion under the shadow of its tree-shrouded bays.

Besides Choisy, Mademoiselle possessed the Palace of the Luxembourg, before-mentioned, the Castles of Eu, D'Aumale, De Thiers, Dombes, Chatellerault, and Saint-Fargeau, each surrounded by such vast estates, that no one except the well-known Marquis de Carrabas ever had the like.

Mademoiselle, although firmly convinced that the world was, in great measure, created for her particular enjoyment, was wonderfully exercised in her mind at the difficulty she experienced in securing that much-coveted game (for which she had hunted all her life), an emperor, or even a king. She, however, appeased her wounded vanity by the conviction that she must be considered too masculine in understanding to consort with any living sovereign. Whatever happened, this royal lady never by any possibility could blame herself.

About this time, a Gascon gentleman of the Caumont family, whose name has been already casually mentioned, began to make much noise at Court. He was Captain of the Royal Guards, whose service was the special care of his Majesty's person, and Field-Marshal, also Governor of Berry. Loaded with honours, he had dropped the undistinguished patronymic of Peguillem altogether, and was known as the Comte de Lauzun. The King, whose understanding was, as a matter of course, superior to every one, had said when he was first presented to him at the Comtesse de Soissons's, that "Lauzun possessed more wit and penetration than any man in France." This opinion was accepted as law. That Lauzun was, by reason of his Gascon blood, cunning, heartless, and mercenary, as well as audacious, insinuating, and brave, is only saying that he was what all Gascons (going up to Court to make their fortunes) were. But that he was above the ordinary hungry adventurer, the sequel will show. Holding Court trumps in his hand, he knew how to play them well. He was a little man, slight and well formed, with a dull, fair complexion, reddish hair, keen penetrating grey eyes, and a most insolent bearing. No one could call him handsome, no one could deny that he could be morose, vindictive, and cruel. He spoke sharp, hard words, affected a certain soldierly swagger, and was capable of being alike cringing and impertinent.

Mademoiselle was no longer young. The unsuccessful chase after an emperor had occupied a large portion of her life. She lived at Court, and was necessarily thrown much into the company of Lauzun, who affected an indifference towards her, a rough and ready manner that piqued her vanity. So she came gradually (no crowned head appearing in the matrimonial horizon, only relays of dukes and insignificant princes) to find Lauzun fascinating and original. The pleasures of Court palled upon her; she became pensive, even sentimental, and often retired to bowery Choisy to meditate on the chances and changes of life.

Finally she came to the conclusion that marriage alone would restore her spirits. But marriage without an emperor? It was a great come-down, certainly. Yet there are no laws but the laws of passion in the kingdom of love. Mademoiselle reasoned that her sublimity was so exalted she could raise any man to her own level. In a word, she discovered that all earthly bliss depended on her marriage with Monsieur de Lauzun.

Now Mademoiselle was, as we have seen, a very determined, even masculine, lady. She had pointed the guns of the Bastille against her cousin the King; she had all but led an army into the battlefield. Having come to a determination, she proceeded incontinently to carry it out. But she encountered uncontemplated difficulties. The crafty Lauzun, who read her like a book, became suddenly respectful and silent. As she approached, he receded. Mademoiselle was extremely embarrassed, and more violently in love than ever. This was precisely what Lauzun intended.

We are in the Queen's apartments at the Louvre, within a stately retiring-room. The walls are covered with white brocade, on which is a gold pattern. They are panelled by gilt scroll-work. On the carved ceiling, which is supported by pilasters, is painted Apollo ushering in the day. The furniture is of green damask; colossal chandeliers of crystal and gilt bronze are reflected in mirrors placed at either end. Over the mantelpiece, which is carved and richly gilt, hangs a portrait of the King.

Mademoiselle, attended by her lady of honour, enters about the time of the Queen's lever. She finds Lauzun in a corner talking with the Comtesse de Guiche. He takes no notice of her, though she gives a slight cough to attract his attention. She does not like it. Besides not saluting her, which he ought to have done, he seems quite to have thrown off his usual insouciance, and to find the conversation of the Comtesse de Guiche much too interesting. Mademoiselle retires into the recess of a window, and watches him.

Lauzun continues talking with unaccustomed eagerness. He still takes no notice whatever of Mademoiselle; her royal highness has therefore to wait—yes, actually to wait; a thing she has never done in her life before to an inferior—until he has done talking.

But when he does approach her, he advances with such a noble air, he is in her eyes so handsome, that "To me," she says in her memoirs, "he seemed the very master of the world." Not only does she forgive him, but her whole heart goes out to meet him, and her pulses throb violently—so violently, indeed, she is obliged to wait for a moment ere she can address him.

Lauzun makes her a ceremonious bow, places his hand on his embroidered waistcoat and point-lace jabot, at the place where, if he had one, his heart would have been, casts down his eyes, and awaits her pleasure.

Now, it must be specially borne in mind that Mademoiselle, much against her will, may be now called "an old maid," which condition may reasonably excuse her ardour.

"I flatter myself, Count," she says—blushing at her own backwardness, yet infinitely gratified at the same time by Lauzun's attitude of respectful attention—"I flatter myself you take some interest in me." She looks up, expecting some outburst of protestation at the studied humility of her language. Lauzun, his hand still resting somewhere in the region of where his heart ought to be, bows again, but does not reply. "You are a faithful friend, I know, Monsieur de Lauzun," continues Mademoiselle, confused at his perfect composure, and evolving in her own mind the impossibility of saying all that she desires if he continues silent. "You are, too, a man of the world—" she hesitates. Still Lauzun is mute. "Even his Majesty has the highest respect for your judgment." Again she pauses, flushes crimson, not only on her cheeks, but over her well-formed neck and snowy shoulders. Lauzun makes a slight inclination, but otherwise maintains the same attitude. Mademoiselle's voice, ordinarily rather shrill and loud, is low and persuasive. She looks at him inquiringly, and stretches out both her hands as if to claim his special attention to what she is about to say. Lauzun appears not to observe her anxiety, and fixes his eyes on the ground. "Will you favour me with your advice, Monsieur de Lauzun? I shall esteem it a great kindness." Her tone is almost one of supplication.

"I am deeply sensible of the honour your highness does me," replies Lauzun, disengaging his hand from his waistcoat, and again bowing, this time very stiffly. "On what subject may I venture to advise your royal highness?"

Mademoiselle is conscious she has something very extraordinary to say. She hoped that, seeing her evident perplexity, Lauzun would have helped her. Not a bit. She must trust entirely to herself. Her pride comes to her help. She remembers who she is, draws herself up, steadies her voice, and takes a few steps nearer to where he is standing.

"It is a very delicate subject, Monsieur de Lauzun; nothing but my confidence in your honour and your discretion would otherwise induce me to broach it. But——" and she falters.

Lauzun does not stir, only with the slightest perceptible motion he raises his eyebrows, which Mademoiselle perceives, and, fearing that he is impatient, speaks quickly.

"Do you know—can you tell me——" here she pauses; then observing that he makes a hasty gesture, she forces herself to proceed—"you, Monsieur de Lauzun, who are the confidant of the King, can you tell me whom he purposes me to marry?"

Having said thus much she is so overcome she would like to sink into a chair. There is none at hand; besides, she dare not leave Lauzun, so eager is she for his reply.

He raises his head and fixes his deep-set eyes upon her with a bold, cold gaze.

"I assure you, madame, I am absolutely ignorant of his Majesty's pleasure in this matter. I am persuaded, however, from what I know of the elevation of his sentiments on all subjects, that he would desire you solely to follow your own inclination." A malicious twinkle comes into his eye, and he smiles almost as it seems in mockery.

Mademoiselle becomes more and more discomposed. Never had an interview been so difficult to manage. "Surely," she thinks, "Lauzun is not laughing at me!" Yet she is too much in love to drop a conversation which she is determined shall lead to an explanation of his feelings towards herself. All this Lauzun is aware of; he rejoices in intensifying her perplexity.

"Monsieur de Lauzun," she says timidly, playing with one of the soft curls that falls upon her neck, "I hoped you could have told me. I earnestly desire your acquiescence in the choice I am about to make. You must necessarily be interested in it."

An appealing look comes into her face; but she tries in vain to catch Lauzun's eye. "At my age," and she sighs profoundly, "persons rarely marry contrary to their inclinations. Every crowned head in Europe has solicited my hand. Until lately, however, my heart was free." She sighs again, and gazes imploringly at him. He must understand her, she tells herself, but as his looks are bent on the ground she cannot tell. Lauzun inclines his head, and seems to await her further communications.

"I have seen no one to please me until lately," she goes on to say; "I love my country, Monsieur de Lauzun; I think I could only be happy with a countryman—one"—(something rises in her throat, and stops her utterance; she clears her voice)—"one whom I know well—whom I esteem—whose person and manners are agreeable to me; one with a high place at Court, and who possesses the esteem of my cousin, the King." All this is spoken significantly and with marked emphasis.

A delicious glow runs through her frame. Breathlessly she awaits his reply.

"Your highness speaks with admirable sense," answers Lauzun with great deliberation. "How many illustrious persons about the Court would be honoured by knowing your gracious sentiments. Permit me, madame, to make them public."

"Not for the world, Monsieur de Lauzun," exclaims Mademoiselle hurriedly. "I am speaking to you strictly in confidence." Her countenance has fallen, and she has turned very white. Lauzun watches her under his eyelids, and enjoys her sufferings.

"Why should one so happy as your highness marry at all?" he adds, seeing that she does not speak.

"I am happy, certainly, if riches and royal birth can confer happiness," she replies thoughtfully; "but there are drawbacks, Monsieur de Lauzun. I wish to confer my wealth upon a worthy individual."

("Myself, for instance," says Lauzun to himself; "I shall be delighted to spend it; indeed, I intend to do so.")

"Many people," continues Mademoiselle, "at this very moment wish me dead in order to inherit it," and a sigh escapes her. "I am very lonely, Monsieur de Lauzun, very lonely." Her face assumes a melting expression, such as he had never seen on it before. What could she say to make him understand her? Thinking of this she sighs again very audibly. Lauzun knits his brows and affects to be lost in thought.

"That is a most serious consideration, your highness. I admit it had not before occurred to me. Permit me time to consider of it before I tender any further advice."

A thousand hopes rush into Mademoiselle's mind. "He understands me," she tells herself, "but my exalted position alarms him. He will propose to me when next we meet."

At this moment the Queen entered the withdrawing-room.