Chapter XXVII

CLARA'S MINIATURE, AND HOW IT PROVED A TALISMAN.

At luncheon M. de Brissac and I were joined by the Earl of Irvine and several young sparks of the French Guards, glittering with jewels, velvets, and cloth of gold. We were attended by servants in the royal livery of France. The collation was luxurious; the wines rare beyond price, and served up in a lofty apartment, the walls of which were painted azure, powdered with silver lilies, and the ceiling was decorated by an allegorical subject, representing France as a beautiful woman, in whose half nude and wholly voluptuous figure, I recognized Clara d'Amboise, seated in a car drawn by white swans, and attended by Ceres, Flora, Pomona, and other goddesses, whose faces were those of Chevreuse, de Guerchi, and other court beauties, who were conducting her to the temple of Virtue.

The war, duels, and girls were the usual topics of conversation. I detailed all the particulars of our brilliant charge at Bitche; on which Lord Irvine said, with an air of pique,

'So it was only an affair of horse--a little charivari--nothing more.'

'Rather more successful than your marshal's at Bormio, however!'

'Oh, do not speak of Bormio; we had there a more dreadful day than I shall ever see until the day of doom! There, gentlemen, the best blood in France was battening in the sun upon the Alps, and dying the waters of the Fredolfo purple. My dearest friend was there mortally wounded by my side in dragging me wounded, as you see, from the press, and expired that night placing his wife in my arms as a sacred trust.'

'A pleasant little arrangement,' said De Brissac gaily; 'I hope the lady was handsome.'

'I do not understand you, monsieur,' replied the young Earl, gravely; 'my faith is for my friend--my sword is at the service of the King.'

'So is mine, my Lord,' said the gay Brissac; 'and moreover my hand and moustache are at the service of all fair ladies of his court. Morbleu! don't let us quarrel over this excellent wine; but tell us, M. Blane, got you much plunder in Alsace?'

'A younger son's share only; but whose stately château is that, on the other side of the water?' I asked, pointing to a large edifice which was visible between the elms.

'That is Trianon, a retreat of the King's. He comes to Versailles when tired of Paris; and goes lo Trianon when tired of Versailles.'

'Of which he will soon tire now,' said a chevalier of the French guards, with a wicked wink.

'You smile, monsieur?' said I.

'Of course.'

'Why?'

'Madame d'Amboise is there just now.'

'At Trianon?'

'Yes.'

'And Anne of Austria--'

'Is no doubt busy with M. le Cardinal, adjusting the boundaries of France at the Rhine.'

There was such a loud explosion of laughter at this remark, that I am sure 'M. le Cardinal' would have knit his brows had he heard it.

Trianon was in the form of an oval; in the centre was a large iron gate, having two sentinels of the French line, pacing before it. It had numerous pavilions crowned by glittering vanes; and its cornice was surmounted by an elaborate balustrade, and row of porcelain vases. It was gaily beautiful, for everywhere flowers bloomed, fountains played, and golden fish swam in the ponds around it.

Again my old emotions of pique at the Countess returned, and I resolved to depart at once to Paris, after thanking M. de Brissac for his courtesy, and drinking a farewell bumper to the Earl of Irvine.

This young peer was a son of Archibald seventh Earl of Argyle. He had served long against the Spaniards, and obtained a Scottish earldom from Charles I.; but died without heirs-male, and his title became extinct. He was brave, handsome, and a mirror of military honour.

I did not leave immediately for Paris, but wandered irresolutely about Versailles. The afternoon proved hot and sultry. There was not a breath of wind to stir a leaf of the three avenues of giant elms that diverge from the castle. The air and the canals between the latter and Trianon were alike still and motionless. The sun played with a golden gleam between the glittering fountains, on the yellow fruit of the orangery, and cast long flakes of hazy light athwart the deep shady vistas of the greater avenue; and now since the hunting-train had dispersed, all seemed lifeless and calm about this beautiful summer residence of Louis XIII.

While gazing at Trianon, across the verdant lawns, (then studded with the little daisy called in France "la belle Marguerite," from the Virgin of Cortona,) and pondering which apartment of that long façade, that is sixty-four fathoms broad, was occupied by the Countess, I seated myself upon a rustic sofa under a broad umbrageous elm, and drawing her miniature from my breast, unclasped and looked upon it, remembering her remarkable advice to wear it constantly for her sake, as it might 'prove a _talisman_, should I ever get into trouble.'

Something of the old and dangerous tenderness this fascinating woman had excited in my young breast rose again within me, as I gazed upon her beautiful face and winning smile; but while these thoughts coursed through my heart and head, the hot champagne seemed bubbling to my brain; the avenue, the palace and its fountains swam around me, and overcome by the languor of the day, the toil of my late journey, and the potent wine of the most Christian king, I fell into a sound sleep, with the miniature open in my hand--the miniature of the King's mistress, whose face was as well known to the court as the great clock of Notre Dame de Paris; and this was within a pistol-shot of the gate of Versailles!'

How long I slept I know not, but I awoke chilled and stiff.

The lengthened shadows of the elm-trees, and the deepening gloom that fell across the courts of Versailles, warned me that the day was past, and I started up.

'The miniature!' thought I.

Anxious and bewildered I searched for it on every side, but searched in vain. It had been stolen from me while I slept; and not daring to make any inquiry after it, I was glad to mount and ride back at a furious pace to Paris, with a vague hope of leaving danger behind me.

I had soon reason to repent the loss of my _talisman_.