The Rising Storm

'What in the world are you about ?' he asked anxiously.

'Packing my own things, as I have sent my man to get my coach,' replied the Count tersely.

'Indeed! And where are you off to in such a hurry?'

'Germany! Holland! England! Heaven knows, for I do not.'

'Come,' Roger insisted. 'I beg you make yourself plain.'

'I thought that I had done so. I am going into exile.'

'Exile!'

'Yes. I have been banished. An hour since Her Majesty told me to pack this very night and leave the country.'

'But you are one of her oldest friends. How could you possibly have offended her to such a degree?'

'I spoke my mind too freely. For weeks past her brother, the Emperor Joseph, has sent letter after letter, urging her to take refuge with him in Vienna from the hatred of the people. This evening I told her plainly that it was useless to rely further upon the Kong. That he is constitutionally unfitted to cope with the problems with which he is faced. That she must either raise the standard of the monarchy herself and let us draw our swords in its defence, or seek safety in flight. She replied that she had complete faith in His Majesty's judgment, would never abandon him or the station to which God had called her, and would not suffer to remain in her presence anyone who spoke ill of her husband; therefore I was to proceed abroad immediately.'

'She cannot have meant that!' cried Roger impetuously. 'She is distressed beyond measure by events, and cannot have realized the full import of what she said. At such a time she more than ever needs her true friends round her. I beg you to ignore her order; for I vow you will find that she has repented of it by tomorrow.'

De Vaudreuil frowned, shook his head, and said sadly: 'Nay. I have long been wearied of the Court and its futile ways. I have wasted half a lifetime bowing and posturing with a lot of other fools who have now brought calamity upon themselves. I have served her to the best of my ability, and would serve her still if she would but listen to the dictates of her own high courage instead of playing the loyal, subservient wife to that poor stupid man whom fate has made our King. But since she will not, did I remain I should only add to her distress by telling her further truths that she knows already; so 'tis best that I should go.'

In vain Roger argued and pleaded, so at length he left the Count to continue with his packing. Yet he knew that de Vaudreuil loved the Queen with a selfless devotion, and in recent weeks his own heart had ached so much for Isabella, that now, from sympathetic understanding, it ached for his friend.

He could not bear the thought that the Queen and her faithful knight should part in anger, so after a while he summoned all his resolution and went to her apartments.

Madame Campan opened the door of the ante-chamber to his knock. On his requesting an audience on an urgent matter she looked at him in astonishment and said that she could not take his name in at that hour, and that in any case the Duchesse de Polignac was closeted with Her Majesty.

At that moment the Duchesse came out. She was holding a handker­chief to her eyes and weeping bitterly. Roger again urged Madame Campan to beg the Queen to see him for a moment and at length she reluctantly consented.

She returned after a moment to say that the Queen was about to retire for the night, and could see no one. With his usual persistence when he had made up his mind to do anything, Roger said that he had been sent on a matter of the greatest urgency by Monsieur de Vaudreuil. Again Madame Campan reluctantly gave way. When she came back the second time she opened the door wide and led him without a word across the room to the great gilded double doors at its far end. At her touch one of them swung back a few feet, and he stepped through into the huge, lofty, ornate chamber, in which the Queen both slept and held her morning receptions.

Madame Marie Antoinette was sitting at her dressing-table, her head bowed between her hands, crying. As she turned to look at him her blue eyes were dim and the tears were still running down her cheeks. In that vast apartment she now seemed a small pathetic figure. Roger was suddenly conscious of an extraordinary urge to run to her and put his arms protectively about her.

Repressing this symptom of madness that she inspired in men, he made her three formal bows and waited to be addressed.

After a moment she said in a low voice: 'You—you bring me a message from Monsieur de Vaudreuil.'

'I most humbly beg Your Majesty to pardon me,' he replied. ' 'Tis not Monsieur de Vaudreuil's words I bring, only his thoughts; and those upon my own responsibility. He is distressed beyond measure at your treatment of him.'

The Queen drew herself up. 'Monsieur 1 How dare you force your way in here, and require me to explain my conduct!'

Roger went down on one knee, and bowed his head. 'Madame, I come but to implore you to forgive him.'

She put her handkerchief to her eyes, brushed away fresh tears, and said more quietly: 'I did no more than my plain duty in reprimanding him for what he said.'

Throwing discretion to the winds, Roger burst out: 'But, Madame! He has been so long in your service. He loves you so dearly. He would, I know, give his life for you without a moment's hesitation. How could you find it in your heart to treat him with such harshness? 'Tis one thing to administer a rebuke, but quite another to send a faithful servant into exile because he has spoken over boldly, and at that solely from his devotion to you.'

For a full minute there was silence, while Roger continued to kneel, his eyes fixed on the floor. Then she said:

'Be pleased to rise, Mr. Brook. I thank you for coming to me. It will enable me to repair a misunderstanding which I should deeply regret. I spoke to Monsieur de Vaudreuil upon two matters. Firstly in reply to the uncalled-for advice he offered me; secondly regarding his own future. But neither had any connection with the other. I now see that in his distress at having incurred my displeasure, my poor friend must have confused the two. I told him that he must leave my service, only because His Majesty and I have decided that France is no longer safe for anyone who has shown us personal—devotion.'

The Queen choked upon the word and began to weep again; but after a few moments she restrained her tears, and went on: ' 'Tis said that in Paris there are already placards up demanding the head of Monsieur le Comte d'Artois; so the King has ordered his brother to leave the country. He has done the like with the Prince de Cond6, and the Prince de Conti; with Monsieur de Breteuil, the Marshal de Broglie and a score of others. I have but this moment parted from my dear friend the Duchesse de Polignac.'

Once more her tears checked her speech, but she struggled to continue. 'The de Coignys, de Ligne; all those we love we are sending abroad for their own safety. They begged to stay, but the King helped me to persuade a number of them only a few minutes after de Vaudreuil had left me. In the end His Majesty had to command them, and he urged them to depart without losing a moment. You, too, Mr. Brook, must go. Short as your time has been here, you are already known as one of those they call 'the party of the accursed Queen'. Think kindly of me sometimes, I beg; but leave me now and make all speed to England.'

There was nothing Roger could say; and, his own eyes now half blinded by unshed tears, he bowed very low.

As he was about to make his second bow she impulsively stood up, and thrust her handkerchief into his hand.

'Give this, please, to de Vaudreuil,' she stammered. 'Tell him that I have shed many tears tonight; but that the first to fall on it were those I shed at the thought of having had to send him away.'

The moment Madame Campan had closed the door of the ante­room behind Roger, he hurried back to de Vaudreuil's room. But he was too late. Both the trunk and its owner were gone. A mass of only partially torn up letters left scattered about the floor told of his hurried departure.

In the hope of catching his friend Roger ran through the long corridors, down the great staircase, and out on to the steps at the main entrance of the palace. But the Cour de Marbre was empty and no coach in sight.

Beyond the railings the square was now brightly lit by the bonfires. Like the nightmare figures at a Witches' Sabbat men and women with linked arms were wildly dancing round them. Their drunken shouts made hideous the summer night.

In his hand Roger still clutched a small, damp handkerchief.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN