SIGNING THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT.

A DAY is at length fixed. The contract between Mademoiselle and Lauzun is to be signed at the Luxembourg Palace. Mademoiselle arrays herself in the white robe of an affianced bride. Lauzun is beside her. He is ostentatiously humble; indeed, he had never been thoroughly civil to her before.

As he enters the boudoir in her private suite of apartments, he salutes her with his grandest air, and kisses her hand. Mademoiselle cannot take her eyes off him. Her senile transports are ridiculous; Lauzun feels that they are.

A table is placed in the centre of the room; at this table sits Boucherat, notary to her royal highness. He is dressed in the quaint clerical robe, white bands, and short wig that still distinguished his profession in France. The marriage contract, of portentous size, lies open on the table before him. Boucherat, a tall spare man, with a singularly doleful expression of countenance, looks discomposed, coughs several times, then, finding that no one attends to him, looks up. Mademoiselle is talking eagerly with Lauzun.

"Your royal highness—" begins Boucherat, hesitating. "Will you permit me to address you, madame?" he adds in a louder tone, finding Mademoiselle pays no attention to him.

"What is it, my good Boucherat?" asks Mademoiselle, turning round at last towards him.

Boucherat rises to his feet. He bows, standing on the tips of his toes, then folds his arms. He is purple in the face, and appears to be suffering acutely, especially as, suddenly unfolding his arms, he rubs them violently together.

Lauzun laughs. Mademoiselle cannot altogether command her countenance.

"I have known your royal highness from a child," says Boucherat hurriedly, as though speaking between spasms of pain. "I have had the honour of serving your illustrious father, Gaston, Duc d'OrlÉans, as notary before your birth—exalted lady." Here Boucherat stops, gasps as if going into a fit, wipes his forehead with his handkerchief, and adjusts his wig.

Lauzun roars with laughter, and Mademoiselle contemplates the notary with silent amazement.

"I have the honour to say,—great lady," continues Boucherat spasmodically, "that I have known you from a child. I have always obeyed you, blindly, as was my duty and my pleasure. I have obeyed you now, madame," and he utters a sound between a snort and a groan. "I have at your command drawn up these deeds, as you bade me. But," and he again stops, blows his nose violently, and makes a hideous grimace, "I cannot allow your highness to sign these deeds and contracts without presuming to ask you if you have fully considered their import." Here such a succession of twitches and spasmodic contortions passes over his countenance, that he is scarcely human.

"I have well considered what I am doing, Boucherat," replies Mademoiselle loftily, advancing to the table and taking a pen in her hand.

Lauzun, no longer laughing, stands contemplating Boucherat, with a savage expression.

"Your highness—permit me," pursues the notary, not seeing him. "Is it to be an entire donation of the princedom of Dombes, the county of Eu, the dukedom of——"

"Yes, yes, Boucherat, an entire donation," replies Mademoiselle, interrupting him.

She dips the pen into the ink and prepares to sign.

"An entire donation, madame?" gasps Boucherat, rising noisily to his feet, then re-seating himself, and repeating this several times in his excitement. "Let me caution your highness——" Another snort and a succession of loud coughs silence him.

"This good man will certainly have a fit," says Mademoiselle half aloud. "What can I do with him? Do not agitate yourself, Boucherat," and she turns towards him. She well knows his great fidelity and attachment to herself. "Have no fear. I know what I am about. I shall never be more mistress of my fortune than when I give it to this gentleman."

She turns round and glances fondly at Lauzun, who is standing behind her. She starts back at the furious expression on his face. He looks diabolical. His eyes are fixed on Boucherat. The pen drops from her hand.

"Believe me, madame, I—I have reason for my caution"; and again all human expression passes from the face of the notary in a succession of the most violent winks.

"How, villain! what do you mean?" cries Lauzun, advancing. "I shall break my cane on your back presently."

Boucherat rises, looks for a moment at Lauzun, then at Mademoiselle, shakes his head, readjusts his wig, and reseats himself.

Mademoiselle had taken the pen—which Lauzun presents to her this time—again in her hand.

"Ah, your highness," groans Boucherat, "I have done my duty. God help and guard you!"

"Are these deeds as I commanded them, Boucherat?"

"Yes, madame; they are a donation, an entire donation, of the princedom of Dombes, the——"

"Be silent, scoundrel!" roars Lauzun, "or by heaven I will split your head open."

Boucherat shudders; his eyes seem to turn in his head; a look of horror is on his face.

Mademoiselle draws the parchment towards her.

"I sign here," she says, and she traces her name in a bold, firm hand, "Louise de Montpensier."

While she writes, Boucherat digs his hands into his wig, which, pushed to one side, discloses his bald head. Then with a piteous glance at his mistress, he flings his arms wildly into the air.

"Alas, alas! would I had died before this! the princedom of Dombes gone—the county of Eu gone! Oh, madame!"

"Be silent, madman!" roars Lauzun, "or, pardieu, I will throttle you."

The folding-doors leading into the state apartments are now thrown open. Mademoiselle appears, led by the Comte de Lauzun. These state apartments had been decorated by her grandmother, Marie de' Medici, who had lived in this palace. The walls are ornamented with delicate arabesques, panelled with golden borders, and painted above in compartments. The vaulted ceilings are divided into various designs, executed by Rubens, illustrating the life of his royal mistress. Around hang the effigies of the Medici and the Bourbons, the common ancestors of Marie de' Medici and her granddaughter.

Mademoiselle passes round the brilliant circle which forms itself about her, still holding Lauzun by the hand.

"Permit me," says she, in her stateliest manner, taking her position at the top of the throne-room under a canopy—"Permit me to present to you my future husband, the Duc de Montpensier. Let me beg all of you in future to address him by that title only."

The royal princes present and the great personages of the Court bow their acquiescence. The MarÉchal de Bellefonds advances and salutes Mademoiselle.

"Permit me, madame," says he, addressing her, "to congratulate you in the name of your highness's devoted friends. I desire to thank you especially in the name of the nobility of France, whom I represent, for the honour you are conferring on our order by choosing from amongst us a consort to share your dignity. We esteem Monsieur de Lauzun one of the brightest ornaments of the Court; he is worthy of the proud station for which you have selected him."

"I thank you, MarÉchal de Bellefonds, and I thank the nobility of France whom you so worthily represent. I thank you from my heart," and Mademoiselle curtseys with royal grace. "No one is so well acquainted as myself with the merit of Monsieur de Lauzun," and she glances proudly at her future husband. "I accept with pleasure the sympathy of his friends."

Lauzun bends, and kisses the hand of his affianced wife.

Then the MarÉchal de Charost steps forth from a glittering crowd of officers. Charost is a captain in the royal body-guard.

"I must also thank your highness for the honour you confer on the army of France. My post is now without price; for what would a soldier not give, what sacrifices would he not make, to become the brother-in-arms of the husband of your highness?"

A laugh follows this hearty outburst of enthusiasm. It is scarcely audible, but Mademoiselle instantly suppresses it with a frown. Lauzun is a sacred object in her eyes, and she permits no jests, however flattering, to mix with his name. Turning towards the MarÉchal de Charost, she replies with haughty courtesy—

"I thank you, MarÉchal, and, in your person I thank the brave army of his Majesty, my cousin."

Before this august company separates it is announced that the marriage contract is to be at once submitted to the King, Queen, the Dauphin, the Duc d'OrlÉans, and the princes of the blood-royal.

The marriage is to take place next day at Charenton, at the villa of the Marquise de CrÉqui. The Archbishop of Rheims is to officiate.