The Road to Compiegne Read Online Free Page B

Madame d’Ancenis went for the book on theology which they read aloud together, the Duchesse de Luynes said: ‘I had hoped that Your Majesty would play for us.’
    The Queen could not hide her pleasure. ‘I will play, since you ask me,’ she said. ‘We will read later.’
    Her ladies sat round her while she stumbled through her pieces on the harpsichord, a smile of contentment on her face because the music sounded delightful to her ears.
    Madame de Luynes, watching her, thought: poor lady, it gives her such pleasure and it is not much for us to endure.
    Afterwards they studied the mural which the Queen was painting in one of the small chambers. She showed her delight in this as a child might, not seeing the faults. Madame de Luynes noticed that her painting teachers had been at work on the mural and had to some extent improved it, but it was still a poor piece of work.
    The ladies exclaimed at its beauty, but Madame de Luynes knew that the others, like herself, were eager to bring some joy into the Queen’s life and were prepared to suppress a little honesty for the sake of doing this.
    She had had her pleasure; now she would return to duty. The book was produced and each lady read a little while the others sat at their needlework.
    None attended to the dreary lecture, yet they all sat, their heads on one side, appearing to listen intently.
    Each lady’s thoughts were far away. The Queen was thinking of the past, for she had had a letter from her father only this day. These letters from Stanislas, who now ruled the Duchy of Lorraine and who had once been King of Poland, brought the brightest moments to her life. From her father, alone in the world, she had constant love.
    To herself she repeated the opening phrase of that letter: ‘My dear and only Marie, you are my other self and I live only for you . . .’
    They were no idle words. Her father loved her as did no one else. Often she thought of that day when he had burst in upon her and her mother and told them that she was to be Queen of France. She could never do so without bringing tears to her eyes and, oddly enough, the tears were not for the loss of joys which she had believed she would hold for ever, but because she missed her father, for naturally they could not meet as often as they wished.
    So life went on, she was thinking, each day very like the previous one. She with her little court, which was not the King’s Court, lived according to the pattern she had laid down for herself: prayers, interludes with her ladies such as now, playing the harpsichord, doing a little painting, playing cards in the evening and retiring early to bed.
    Louis never visited her there now, and for that she was only mildly regretful and very thankful. Another must now suffer those onslaughts of passion. Poor Madame de Pompadour, how was she bearing the strain!
    She found that she was speaking her thoughts aloud. ‘I thought the Marquise looked a little tired today.’
    There was a feeling of relief in the little group. The Duchesse de Luynes looked up from the book.
    ‘I have heard, Your Majesty, that she suffers often from exhaustion,’ said Madame d’Ancenis, ‘and that she is subject to fainting fits.’
    ‘Only Madame du Hausset knows the truth,’ put in Madame de Rupelmonde, ‘and she guards the Marquise and her secrets devotedly.’
    ‘I am glad,’ said the Queen, ‘that Madame de Pompadour has such a good friend and servant.’ She smiled affectionately at the trio. ‘I know what such friendship can mean.’
    ‘The lady is so unpopular with the people,’ murmured the Duchesse de Luynes.
    ‘Such ladies often are,’ added the Queen.
    ‘If,’ said the Duchesse, ‘you, Madame, were seen more often in the company of His Majesty, they would be pleased. I have heard that in the city they talk continually of the road to Compiègne. This quarrel between the King and the capital – it makes me uneasy. One hears tales of what is said . . .’
    ‘Oh,’ put in