Richelieu found all his supporters melting away, and that there was a plan afoot to get him sent into exile. Meanwhile the Duchesse knew that her hours in Metz were numbered and she and her sister would have to face the hostile crowd on their way out of the town and across France.
While they were preparing themselves to leave, the Maréchal de Belle-Isle called upon them. He expressed his sympathy, for he said he did not care to see ladies in distress.
‘You should know, Madame,’ he said, ‘that hostile crowds are waiting for your carriage.’
‘I know it, Monsieur de Belle-Isle,’ she told him, desperately trying to retain her courage.
‘Then I hope you will allow me to place my carriage at your disposal,’ said the Maréchal. ‘It is big and, if the window blinds were drawn down, none would realise who travelled inside it.’
‘How can I thank you?’ cried the Duchesse.
‘It is nothing,’ said the Maréchal. ‘I could not fail to help ladies in distress. Be ready to leave in my carriage. I will go away on foot. The carriage window-blinds are drawn. You will have left Metz behind you before the people discover that you have gone.’
Thus the Duchesse de Châteauroux fled ignobly from Metz.
The Bishop of Soissons and Père Pérusseau were in command, since the King was too ill to be anything but helpless in their hands. They gave their orders; the King must obey. It was their task to pilot him to Heaven, and he believed he would shortly leave this Earth.
Did he repent of his sins?
He repented with all his heart.
That was well, for only complete repentance would save his soul.
His repentance must be made public; he must confess his manifold sins; he must agree to banish the Duchesse de Châteauroux to a place a hundred and fifty miles from Versailles.
The King was drooping into unconsciousness; he was too ill to understand anything but that his soul was being saved.
Thus the enemies of Richelieu and the Duchesse were triumphant and already men and women were showing a new respect for the Dauphin.
The Bishop declared that the Queen should come at once to the King’s bedside, and that all France should know that the concubine was being dismissed, and the husband and wife were amicably together again.
Louis consented to all this unaware of what he did.
And then suddenly the miracle happened. Louis woke up one morning to find that his fever had disappeared.
As the Duchesse drove away from the town of Metz, the Queen drove towards it. The latter was a most unhappy woman, because she believed that since the King had dismissed his mistress and sent for his wife he must be on the point of death. Moreover news had just reached her that her little Thérèse-Félicité had died.
There was a little comfort in the conduct of the people, who had gathered to see the carriages of the wife and the mistress going in their different directions, for they hurled abuse at the mistress, spat at her coach and threw stones at it; while they cheered the Queen on her way.
Louis was still very weak when the Queen arrived at Metz, and when she visited him and knelt by the bed he was moved to see her tears.
‘I ask your forgiveness,’ he said, ‘for the humiliations I have made you suffer.’
Marie shook her head and smiled at him through her tears. ‘You have my forgiveness,’ she said. ‘All you need do is ask for God’s.’
It was an irritating comment and typical of his wife, but Louis was genuinely sorry for the distress he had caused her and eager now for peace. So he reached for her hand.
Paris went wild with joy. Louis had recovered, and had dismissed the Duchesse. He and the Queen were together again. He had conducted himself with valour among his soldiers. He was going to rule them nobly and well; and good times were coming back to France.
He was spoken of with the utmost affection. He was going to be the greatest King the French had ever known.
It was at this time that they did not speak merely of Louis our King. They called him ‘Louis the Well-Beloved.’
As soon as he was well enough Louis was back in the army. Noailles had not been very successful during the King’s illness, and Louis was beginning to understand that he had been mistaken in thinking this man was a great general.
Foolishly he had allowed Charles of Lorraine to cross the Rhine unmolested on his way to help Bohemia against the attack which Frederick of Prussia was making. That Noailles should have allowed him to escape was disgraceful. The people cried out against him and, when he came to Metz to confer with the King, the old Maréchal found that he no longer had Louis’ confidence; as for the new ally, Frederick of Prussia, he was furious at the lax behaviour of Noailles which, he said, amounted to treason.
Louis joined his armies at Freiburg which, on his arrival, fell to the French; but the winter was already upon them and it was impossible to continue the war.
Louis went to Paris where he was given a welcome such as Paris had rarely given its King. In spite of the bitter cold the people filled the streets to let him know how much they loved him.
Sitting back in his golden coach he looked as handsome as a god and, when the people recalled his valour in the field, they shouted themselves hoarse.
From the crowd one woman watched; she wore a shawl about her, and from this her face peeped out at the golden coach and its occupant.
He did not see her, but incautiously she allowed the shawl to fall back and disclose her features.
A man at her side noticed her and laughed aloud.
‘Châteauroux,’ he shouted, and immediately she was surrounded.
Desperately she fought to escape from the crowd. ‘You are mistaken . . . You are mistaken . . .’ she insisted.
But they knew they were not. They spat on her; they looked for stones and the rubbish of the streets to throw at her; they hurled insults at her.
Dishevelled, weeping with anger and humiliation, she ran as fast as she could; and when she had eluded them – for they did not want to miss the chance of seeing the King’s procession for the sake of tormenting her – she leaned against the walls of an alley, panting and frightened.
In the distance she could hear the sound of the drums and the shouts of the crowd.
‘Long live Louis! Louis is back. Long live Louis, the Well-beloved of his people.’
The Duc de Richelieu was back in attendance on the King in the Palace of Versailles. There were many to wonder what would happen next, and to tremble in their shoes.
The Duc de Châtillon and his Duchesse were terrified. They had been rather foolish. Although Louis had said that the Dauphin was not to be brought to his bedside at Metz when the Dauphin had begged to be taken there, the Duc had ignored the King’s wishes and given way to those of his pupil. That was when he had believed that the King was dying and that he was obeying the wishes of the boy soon to be King.
He, like others, had made a mistake, and he believed he would be asked to pay for his mistakes.
Louis had shown no displeasure, had indeed been as affable as ever to the Châtillons, but they were beginning to know Louis’ methods now.
Maurepas was wondering what was going to happen to him.
There were others who were anxiously contemplative; and in a house in the Rue du Bac where the Duchesse de Châteauroux was lodging with her sister, people called often, for it was said that messages from the King were being brought to the lady.
The people of Paris were aghast at these rumours. They had decided that their King was to be reconciled to the Queen, that the child-bearing would begin again; that there would be conjugal felicity between the royal pair, and the King would discard his mistress and give his mind to the government of France.