Chartres was handsome and ambitious.

It was a sad thing, thought Orléans, to be so near the throne with no hope of possessing it. This curse had afflicted the whole line of Orléans. Chartres was feeling it now.

The old Duke realised what his son was asking himself. Why should such a one as I – alert of mind, clever, so worthy to wear the crown – have to stand aside and see it on the head of fat Louis, merely because he happens to trace his line from an eldest while I trace mine from a second son? France was in need of a strong king, a firm hand to govern.

Ah, thought Chartres, how much stronger I would be! How much more of a king than poor Louis!

Chartres was approaching his mid-thirties and growing restive.

A restive man in a restive age, thought the old Duke. But I shall not be here to see what he makes of his career.

‘There was a time,’ said Orléans, ‘when you were happy enough to follow the fashion of the Trianon. It was either you or Artois who was at the Queen’s side when she was gambling the country’s money away or dancing at her masked balls.’

Chartres was silent. It was true; he had found her enchanting, the Austrian woman. She was the loveliest lady of the Court; there was no doubt of that. He had been deeply attracted by her gay and almost childish ways.

He had been a normal young man; he looked for his pleasures in gambling, dancing, daring exploits, hunting – and above all, women.

She angered him. She was coquettish enough; one would think one had a chance. Perhaps deliberately she wished to give that impression. Why not? he had thought. She is beautiful, quite desirable. And the King? … All had known of the King’s disability. It would have been natural for the Queen to take a lover, and one such as the Duc de Chartres, a Prince of the blood-royal, would have been eminently suitable. And if by chance there had been a child, would that have been the first such? And what harm done? Their child would have had royal blood in his veins.

But she had drawn back. Those bright blue eyes of hers had become ice-blue. ‘Oh, no, Monsieur le Duc, I indulge in a little coquetry. A light flirtation, if you will – but no further please.’

She was cold; she had no feeling. That must be so; how else could she have refused the fascinating Duc de Chartres? He was a royal Prince – as royal as she was, he would have her remember, as royal as poor impotent Louis.

Chartres’ love was self-love. He needed conquest – not to assuage desire for a certain woman but to placate his own conceit. He saw himself as irresistible; and he grew to hate any who tried to show him to be otherwise.

His father was now looking at him with those shrewd old eyes which seemed to see too much.

‘A man grows tired of vanities,’ said Chartres.

‘I am glad of that,’ his father told him, ‘for you know, my son, I am finding myself much poorer than of yore and I fear that I can no longer afford to live in this place.’

‘You cannot afford to live in the Palais Royal? But this is our home. The Palais Royal is to Orléans what Versailles is to the King!’

Orléans nodded. ‘I could not relinquish the old place altogether of course. What think you of this plan? I have considered opening the gardens to the public, and letting the ground floor – as cafés … shops …’

‘So it has come to this,’ burst out Chartres. ‘Louis lives in style at Versailles while we must turn over our palace to tradesmen.’

‘Do not envy Louis,’ said his father quickly.

The young man looked sharply at the elder.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I am an old man. France has changed a great deal in my lifetime. I have seen these changes – yet I never saw France in the mood she is in to-day.’

‘It is the war mayhap,’ suggested Chartres.

‘Wars put strange thoughts into the minds of men. Why, in the days of Louis Quatorze, I have heard it said, a man dared not speak his mind; in the days of Loius Quinze he whispered what he thought; in the days of Louis Seize he shouts it.’

‘The people of France are aware of the power of the monarchy,’ said Chartres. ‘I noticed the difference when I was in England. I noticed the difference in their mode of government. England is a sane and healthy country compared with France.’

The old Duke smiled at his son. ‘You have done nothing but sing the praises of England since you returned. I thought it was the English women who had so enchanted you.’

‘They did,’ answered Chartres, ‘but so did other things. The English parliamentary system is more advanced than ours. I would like to see their methods introduced here. I would like to see parliamentary elections conducted on the lines they are in England. In England, the Prince of Wales appears to lead the Opposition. A Prince on one side … a King on the other. I call that healthy politics.’

‘It could be unhealthy.’

‘Not in England. The people are not afraid to state their views. Can you call our Parlement representative of the people? Here the King’s will would appear to be absolute. That worked in the past. It will not much longer.’

‘As you are so impressed with these democratic ideas,’ said the old Duke, ‘you will not object as heartily as I thought you would to the letting of the ground floor.’

‘Cafés, you say,’ Chartres mused. ‘If they were cafés like the English coffee houses, where men gather to talk of affairs, I might not object so much.’

‘So you plan to bring English customs to the Palais Royal.’

Chartres did not answer. He was looking into the future. He saw himself wandering through those rooms on the ground floor, gathering about him men who were interested in ideas, men who would look up to him as a leader.

Faint lights of alarm appeared in the eyes of the Duc d’Orléans.

Then he shrugged lightly.

He had lived his life. He would not be there to see the great events which he sensed were about to break over France.


* * *

The Queen sat in her boudoir at Petit Trianon. She was holding the Dauphin in her lap, and Madame Royal was leaning against Madame Elisabeth who was reading aloud. James Armand had peeped in at the door and gone off again. He was growing up and too old to play with children. Antoinette was not listening to Elisabeth. She was thinking of the Dauphin. He worried her a little; he had not Madame Royale’s healthy looks. He was whimpering now.

My little Louis Joseph, she thought, you must not be sick. You must be big and strong like Uncle Joseph. I shall not mind if you think you are so right and all the world wrong – as Uncle Joseph does – if only you will be strong and well and eager for your food, not turning away from it as you so often do, my precious.

One of the ladies came in and announced that the Princesse de Guémenée was asking for an audience with the Queen.

Antoinette frowned. The Princesse had never been a great friend of hers; it was true that she had attended the woman’s card parties, but that was largely because the Princesse was a friend of Gabrielle’s. Now she herself no longer cared for Gabrielle as she once had. There was another reason why she was not very eager to see the Princesse. She was related to the Cardinal de Rohan; and ever since the baptism of the Dauphin, Antoinette had thought now and then of the man. Those piercing eyes of his disturbed her. He was a fool if he thought she was going to show friendship to one who had made light fun of her dear mother.

‘Your Majesty,’ went on the woman, ‘Madame la Princesse is in great distress.’

Antoinette’s sympathy was immediately aroused.

‘Tell her she may come to me,’ she said.

The Princesse came and threw herself on her knees before the Queen.

‘A terrible thing has happened,’ she cried. ‘And I implore Your Majesty to help me.’

‘What terrible thing is this?’ asked Antoinette.

‘My husband the Prince is so deeply in debt that he has had to declare himself bankrupt.’

‘The Prince? But you two have not been together for so long.’

‘This affects me even as it does him. His debts are so vast. He owes 33,000,000 livres all over the country, and now his creditors have declared they can wait no longer for the money.’

Antoinette shook her head sadly. ‘It is all talk of money nowadays. I do not know what I can do to help. I dare not ask for some post for the Prince which will bring him an income. You know what trouble there has been over the Polignacs.’

‘Your Majesty,’ said the Princesse, ‘my husband owes so much that no post at Court could save him now. I have come to ask you to intercede for him. If you could speak to the Comptroller-General there might be some way of preventing the Prince’s creditors making their demands for a little while at least.’

Antoinette immediately forgot her faint dislike of the Princesse. She could not bear to see anyone in trouble.

‘I can try,’ she said. ‘I will speak to Fleury and see what he can do about it.’

‘You are indeed gracious,’ murmured the Princesse. ‘I feel happier now that I know you are on my side.’

‘Sit down beside me,’ soothed Antoinette. ‘Tell me how this terrible situation has come about. What a sad thing it is that there are all these money troubles. I hear constant complaints on all sides – and it is always … money.’


* * *

The Queen summoned Joly de Fleury to her apartment and told him that she had given her word to help the Guémenées in their trouble.

Fleury looked grave.

‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘it is most unwise for you to have your name mentioned in connection with the Guémenées. The Prince is in debt to the tune of 33,000,000 livres. Your Majesty does not realise the import of this. All over the country tradesmen have given these people credit. Now these tradesmen are demanding the money owed to them. They need that money to save themselves from bankruptcy. It is not forthcoming. This is going to be a very bad thing, and not only for the Guémenées, Madame.’