She had made Crécy an enchanting place, the King told her, and he promised to build a house especially for her.
It would be so interesting not to buy something which was already in existence but to construct it together from the beginning. She had already bought the Hôtel d’Evreux in Paris, and she and the King, driving together one day, discovered the ideal spot overlooking the Seine between Meudon and Sèvres.
‘This is the place,’ declared Louis. ‘What a beautiful view you will have from your windows!’
‘Your Majesty has given the name to my house: “Bellevue”.’
‘Bellevue let it be.’
It was wonderful to shut themselves away from everyone and draw up plans for the house. It brought them so close together.
‘We will use Lassurance as architect,’ said Louis. ‘I cannot think of a better.’
‘I also want Verberckt.’
‘His work is exquisite.’
‘I think we ought to call in Boucher for the ceilings.’
‘A great artist.’
And the cost? It never occurred to either of them to think of it. Louis had been accustomed to decide something should be done and the treasury provided the means to do it. As for the Marquise, although she kept her accounts with accuracy, she had always believed that the wealth of Kings was limitless.
While they planned the house and often drove out to Bellevue to see how the workmen were progressing, she thought a great deal about the King’s new friendship with Anne-Henriette. She was aware, for her friends had pointed this out to her, that the Princesse was being drawn into politics by her brother and the Jesuit party.
It had always been the policy of Madame de Pompadour to persuade Louis, never to cajole or threaten as Mesdames Vintimille and Châteauroux had done. Her plan always was to soothe the King, to be the person to whom he came for comfort of any sort. She believed – and rightly so – that the way to hold her position was never to place Louis in embarrassing situations.
Never had she reproached him for neglecting her for Anne-Henriette. She would not draw attention to the subversive nature of those gatherings in the apartments of the Dauphin and Dauphine.
It occurred to her however that, if one of the other daughters were brought to Versailles, Louis’ attention might be diverted from Anne-Henriette.
She had made inquiries as to the character and appearance of the next daughter, Victoire, who was now about fifteen or sixteen. She was pretty, but hardly of a nature to charm the King to any great extent.
So the Marquise said to the King: ‘Louis, it must be a long time since you saw your little daughters.’
‘A very long time.’
‘Are you going to leave them in that convent for ever?’
‘They have not yet completed their education.’
‘But Madame Victoire is only a year younger than Madame Adelaide. I know how delightful it is to have daughters. I have my own little Alexandrine, you remember.’
‘That dear child,’ said Louis. ‘The-not-so-pretty one. We must make a match for her one day. But what are you saying of Victoire?’
‘I was wondering whether you would not like to have her join her sisters here at Versailles.’
Louis was thoughtful for a moment. It would be rather pleasant to have another adoring daughter at Court.
So Victoire returned to Versailles.
Grand apartments were prepared for her, and the King was at first delighted with his daughter.
Victoire however was not gay by nature and, as soon as she arrived at Versailles, Adelaide decided that she would look after her.
She went to her apartments and when she found they were so grand she was jealous. She studied her sister, who was inclined to be, Adelaide quickly discovered, of an extremely lethargic disposition.
‘We shall go for a walk in the gardens,’ Adelaide declared.
‘I like it here,’ said Victoire.
‘I like it in the gardens. Come, we do not sit about all day at Versailles.’
‘Why do you not? It is very pleasant.’
Adelaide smiled at her sister. There was really no need to be jealous of her. The King was merely interested in her because she was the latest arrival. Adelaide was amused to remember that this sister of hers had been for ten years in Fontevrault, as she herself might have been but for her own resourcefulness. She derived great pleasure from Victoire’s society because she could constantly remind herself of what she had escaped.
‘Come,’ commanded Adelaide, and already such power had she over the lazy Victoire that the young girl obeyed.
As they walked together, Victoire was commanded to tell Adelaide about the convent. What were the nuns like? What clothes did they wear? Was it hideously boring, and was she not beside herself with delight to be back at Versailles?
Victoire explained and agreed.
‘You need to be looked after. There are pitfalls at Versailles. It would be a scandal if you offended against Etiquette.’
‘What would happen?’ asked Victoire idly.
‘You would no doubt be sent back to Fontevrault. But do not be afraid. I will always help you. What are Sophie and Louise-Marie like?’
‘Sophie never says anything if she can help it. She is always afraid to.’
‘Afraid? Of what?’
‘Oh life, I suppose.’
‘When Sophie comes home I shall look after her.’
‘But you are going to look after me.’
‘I shall look after you both. I will tell you something. I am the most important person at Versailles.’
‘You . . . but what of our father? What of the Queen? What of the Marquise?’
‘The Queen counts for nothing. The Marquise is always afraid of losing her position. As for our father, he loves me so dearly that he will do all I say. Now you are here I shall let you join in my plan.’
‘What plan?’
‘Having the Marquise dismissed from Court.’
‘But the King would never allow that.’
Adelaide laughed and looked wise. ‘You will see. There are many plots at Versailles, but mine is the best. Anne-Henriette and the Dauphin and the Dauphine have a plot too. It is not as good as mine.’
‘What is yours?’
Adelaide put her fingers to her lips. ‘When you have proved yourself worthy, I may let you into my secrets. If Sophie is so stupid, there is no point in my pleading for her to be brought back, is there?’
Victoire nodded her agreement.
‘What of our younger sister?’
‘She is not stupid. She talks a great deal and always wants her own way. She says that as she has a hump on her back she must have some compensation. So she is going to live exactly as she wants to.’
‘Oh,’ said Adelaide. She did not add that she was even less inclined to plead for the return of Louise-Marie than she was for that of Sophie. She took Victoire by the arm and put her face close to hers.
‘Have no fear. I am at hand to look after you.’
Victoire nodded; she was thinking of being alone in her apartment, lying down on her bed and going to sleep. After dinner of course. She wanted her dinner badly.
‘You and I are allies,’ Adelaide told her. ‘You understand?’
Victoire did understand. She began to follow Adelaide about the Palace in a respectful silence.
The Court was amused by the lazy, docile Victoire, who had become like a slave to domineering Adelaide.
As for the King, he was no longer enamoured of this newly arrived daughter whose education seemed to have been somewhat neglected at Fontevrault.
He was disturbed by the Dauphin’s attempt to dabble in politics, and in order to avoid the unpleasant, avoided his son. He began to see that it was far more interesting to spend his time with the vivacious and intelligent Marquise than with the members of his family.