When she returned to the convent Maria discovered that the peace which she had at first found there was missing. She was not meant for the secluded life. It was not that she wished for the luxury of a court; if the Prince had been a country gentleman such as Mr. Weld or Mr. Fitzherbert she would have been delighted. She pictured their living in the country, entertaining their friends. Would he be content? How many times had he said that all he needed for contentment was to be with her? She had been a little sceptical in the beginning; but then she had doubted his fidelity which had now been proved.
He loved her. She believed that. Had he not tried to take his life because of her? What a dilemma—and was she solving it by running away?
The Paris streets which had once so delighted her now began to depress her. On one occasion she hired a carriage and rode out to Versailles. All along the road was the familiar noise and bustle: the great carrabas drawn by eight horses—the Versailles omnibus—carrying in its wickerwork cage some twenty people, and beside it the little "pols-de-chambre' gambolled along— more comfortable than the carrabas but exposing the occupants to all weather. Maria in her carriage was aware of the resentful glances cast her way. There was no way of escaping the growing animosity between the people with money and those without. How different it had been on that day when her parents had taken her there to see King Louis XV at dinner; she still had the dish which had contained the sugar plums. It might be that she would be invited to Court. This would most certainly be the case if it were known she were here. If the Duc d'Orleans should return to Paris, which was very likely, he would hail her as an old friend. Then her hiding-place would be disclosed once more.
Perhaps she should not stay in Paris; perhaps she should leave France altogether. She decided that she would go to Switzerland and very soon was on her way.
But after a brief stay there she was eager to return to France, which being like a second home to her seemed to offer a less cruel exile. Not Paris this time but somewhere quieter, in the country perhaps. She decided on Plombiers in Lorraine and there she took a fine old house and attempted to adjust herself to the life of the town.
It was not long, however, before her whereabouts was discovered, and letters from the Prince began arriving regularly. He kept her informed of everything that was happening between the King and himself regarding their future; and she was a little exasperated but entirely satisfied because he seemed to regard it as a certainty that in time they would be together.
Since the King had refused him permission to travel abroad, and everyone had convinced him that this was impossible, he had been taking other steps. He had already arranged with his brother Frederick to take his place.
Maria thought of the consequences of such an act. It would have to be a solemn renunciation. And what if in the future he should regret?
There were thirty-seven pages in his flourishing handwriting telling of his devotion to her, how his only comfort was in writing to her, begging her to come back because if she did not he would die without her.
It was very touching, very appealing. Had any one woman, Maria asked herself, ever been so devotedly loved? He would give up his crown for her sake.
If I had not been brought up in this stern belief ... She dismissed the thought; but she was thinking more and more of surrender.
Driving in her carriage one day she passed a man on horseback who bowed gallantly. He was extremely handsome and had the manner of a nobleman; and the next day she met him again. On the third day he pulled up beside the carriage and she had no alternative but to order her coachman to stop.
"Forgive me, Madame," he said, "but I felt I must stop to say what pleasure it gives me to see such beauty in our country lanes."
Maria inclined her head and replied: "You are very kind, sir. Good morning."
"But I believe we must be neighbours ... or at least not many kilometres separate our estates."
"Is that so?"
"You arc impatient to continue with your drive, I see, so I will introduce myself. I am the Marquis de Bellois and I know you to be the English lady who has honoured us by liking Lorraine enough to visit us and stay with us. I doubt not that we shall meet again."
As her carriage drove on Maria was a little uneasy. The man had a very bold expression and she had no wish to become involved with him.
But the Marquis proved to be a man of purpose and it was not long before Maria found herself drawn into the social life of the surrounding country. It would have been churlish to refuse to know her neighbours and since she accepted invitations to the houses of the neighbouring gentry she must return those invitations. It seemed to her that in a very short time she was entertaining as frequently as she and Thomas used to do at Swynnerton. And always at her elbow was the Marquis de Bellois.
She was enchanting, he told her; she was like no one else. All other women were of no interest to him since he had set eyes on the incomparable Mrs. Fitzherbert.
She learned a little about this man. His reputation was far from good; he had all the graces that could be learned at Court —and the French Court at that; but he was an adventurer and she was a woman of fortune. Maria was no fool. She knew very well what was going on in the mind of the Marquis. He had debts; he was looking for a wife; and this beautiful young English widow would suit him very well. Moreover, there were rumours of the Prince of Wales's passion for her which was an added fillip.
Did he think, Maria asked herself, that she would accept him when she had refused her faithful, adoring and disinterested Prince? When she thought of her own fortune and that of the Prince she laughed aloud. Her income would not keep him in ... shoe buckles. Yet he did not think of money. He thought only of his devotion to her. She had run away from him, caused him great pain, and yet he continued to love her.
When the Marquis asked her to marry him she refused immediately.
"But I do not take no for an answer," he told her.
She smiled wanly; and was again reminded of her Prince.
But she was disturbed by the persistence of the Marquis, who was constantly in her house. He was determined, he said, quite determined; and she began to be a little afraid of him for there was something rather sinister in his persistence. She heard stories of his adventures with some of the village girls. What if he should attempt to trap her?
She gave orders to the servants that no one was to be admitted whom they did not know and when the Marquis called she arranged that one of her maids should be in the next room to come at once should she receive a signal.
And finally she decided that she could no longer endure this vague uneasiness. So one day, having made her arrangements, she very quietly left Plombiers for Paris.
Back to the convent and there to live the unsatisfactory life again. Paris was growing more and more uneasy. Everyone was talking about the strange affair of the Diamond Necklace. The Cardinal de Rohan had been arrested and there was a strong suspicion that the Queen was involved in the fraud.
In the streets, in the cafes and the lemonade shops they were discussing this affair; and there were horrible pictures passed round of the Queen—always wearing a diamond necklace—in revolting positions with her favourites, male or female.