She helped her daughter to bed, and there she lay, her eyes brilliant with reminiscence, her lovely hair spread out on the pillow.
If he could only see her now, thought Madame de Poisson. Morceau du roi! There never was a better.
It only showed, said Madame Poisson, that it was foolish to despair, for next morning, a carriage drew up outside the Hôtel de Gesvres and a man alighted.
He asked for Madame d’Etioles, and when, in the company of her mother, Jeanne-Antoinette received him, he told her that his name was Le Bel and that he was one of the King’s principal valets de chambre.
‘You are invited, Madame,’ he said, ‘to join a supper party which His Majesty is giving after the ball at the Hôtel-de-Ville. It is a small party.’
‘I am honoured,’ said Jeanne-Antoinette.
And when the King’s messenger had gone, she and Madame Poisson looked at each other for a second in silence; then they put their arms about each other in a tight hug.
Their laughter verged on the hysterical. This was the dream, which had begun in the fortune-teller’s tent, come true.
‘There is no doubt what this means!’ cried Madame Poisson at length, extricating herself. ‘And there is much to do. You must have a new gown. Rose-coloured, I think. We must get to work at once. What a blessing Charles-Guillaume is away on business.’
Jeanne-Antoinette paused in her joy, which seemed to be touched with something like delirium; she had forgotten Charles-Guillaume who loved her with a passion which his uncle had likened to madness.
But she had always told him that she could only be a faithful wife until the King claimed her. There was no avoiding her destiny.
The ball at the Hôtel-de-Ville was very different from that which had taken place at Versailles. The people of Paris had determined to take a more active part in the celebrations, and they stormed the building and danced among the nobility.
Jeanne-Antoinette, accompanied by Lenormant and her mother, was alarmed. The Dauphin and his bride were present but they decided to leave as early as possible, and so rowdy had the company grown that no one noticed their departure.
On the road to Versailles the two royal carriages met. The Dauphin called a halt and, getting out of his, went to that in which the King sat.
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I advise you not to go on to the Hôtel-de-Ville. The people have broken in. It is like a madhouse.’
The King smiled. ‘Where is the Dauphine?’
‘In her carriage.’
‘Then take her back to Versailles. I shall go on. For, my son, you have your business at Versailles to attend to; mine tonight takes me into Paris.’
The King, unrecognised and accompanied by Richelieu, pushed his way through the crowd. Eventually he saw her sitting with her mother and Lenormant. He sent Richelieu to them.
Richelieu went to their table and bowed.
‘Madame,’ said the Duc, ‘I believe you await a friend.’
‘It is so,’ began Jeanne-Antoinette.
Richelieu swept his eyes over Madame Poisson’s ample but still attractive form.
‘His Majesty eagerly awaits you. Pray consider his impatience and come at once.’
‘Go along now,’ said Madame Poisson. ‘We will go home. May good fortune attend you.’
‘Good fortune already awaits the lady,’ murmured Richelieu.
Louis caught her arm as she approached. ‘Let us leave here quickly. We sup near this place.’
Richelieu accompanied them to their private room, and then Louis said: ‘Your presence, my friend, is no longer needed.’
Thus it was that Jeanne-Antoinette found that the fortune promised her by the gipsy was at last beginning to materialise.
At dawn she was taken back to the Hôtel de Gesvres in the royal carriage and, after a tender farewell, the King left her and returned to Versailles.
So far, so good, but what now?
She need not have worried. Monsieur Le Bel called later that day to bring her an invitation for Madame d’Etioles to sup in the petits appartements at the Palace of Versailles.
Madame Poisson was gleeful. ‘You must keep Charles-Guillaume in the provinces for a while,’ she told Lenormant. ‘He is a very jealous husband. Who knows what indiscretion he might commit if he discovered what was happening!’
So Lenormant and Madame Poisson conspired to further the romance between the King and Jeanne-Antoinette.
Every time he saw Jeanne-Antoinette Louis became a little more enamoured of her. Not since the days of Madame de Mailly had he been so loved for himself.
Jeanne-Antoinette was aware that his friends, and in particular the Duc de Richelieu who did not seem to like her, perhaps because he had not had a part in introducing her to the King, did not pay the respect which she felt was her due. She was not of the Court. She could not appear at any important function because she had never been presented. His friends saw her as one of the King’s light-o’-loves who made the journey to his apartments by way of the back stairs.
If this procedure continued, the King himself would soon be accepting her as such; and that was not part of the destiny of which she had dreamed.
She must be of the Court, accepted as the King’s mistress. Only then could her dream come true.
One day she said to him: ‘Sire, my husband will soon be returning. He is passionately jealous. I cannot come to the supper parties when he returns.’
Louis was astonished. It was not in the nature of husbands, he knew, to debar their wives from administering to the King’s pleasure. But she was astonishing, this little bourgeoise. Dainty as she was, and so sharp-witted, occasionally she amused because she was so different from others.
‘You must leave your husband for me,’ he said.
Now he was aware of her dignity. ‘But, Sire, should I give up my home, my standing for . . . for . . . a few weeks of pleasure such as this?’
The King was surprised. She was so humbly in love with him, so utterly adoring, that he could not believe he had heard aright. Then he thought he understood. In her bourgeois way she had set her standards, as the Court had at Versailles. To be presented at Court, accepted as the King’s mistress, would give her every reason to leave her husband; but not if she were treated like a woman who might be smuggled up the back stairs for an hour or so.
Louis saw her point. There was an etiquette of every stratum of society and he, who had accepted it at Versailles, must respect it in other walks of life.
He looked at her. She was very pretty indeed; she was very fond of him he believed, and not only because he was the King. He in his turn was delighted with her. She was well educated. He thought of Adelaide and Anne-Henriette, and those girls of his who were still at Fontevrault. This pretty little bourgeoise had received a far better education than any of his daughters. She was more clever than they. The only thing she lacked was an understanding of Palace manners, which could be taught her in a week or two. And then . . . what an enchantress she would be! He would defy any woman at Court to compete with her then.
Why should not her education be undertaken? He could do a great deal towards it himself.
A presentation! A worthy title! Then he could have the delightful woman with him on all occasions.
He made up his mind.
‘My dear,’ he said, ‘you must not go back to your husband. We will make you into a lady of the Court.’
‘And then . . . I may be with you . . . always?’
He took her hand and kissed it.
She knew what this meant. She was to be brought to Court; many honours would be hers. She would be the acknowledged mistress of the King.