If only, she thought, I could have had his child. It was impossible now. She had had several miscarriages, but her doctor, Quesnay, had told her that she could have no more children.
It was so unfortunate. Son or daughter of Louis XV and the Marquise de Pompadour! Nothing would have been too good for that child, no honours too high. And what a bond it would have been between them! But it was not to be.
He looked a little melancholy now and she wondered whether he was thinking of the previous night, which she believed had not been completely successful for him.
The thought of her deficiencies in the bedchamber often terrified her, and she knew that the time when she must face this problem could not be far away.
However, the night was behind them; and during the day, on every social occasion, Louis could not have a more delightful and entertaining companion than the Marquise.
‘You look charming,’ Louis told her.
‘And you, Sire, are in the best of spirits.’
It was not so; but she had found that by suggesting that he looked well and in good spirits he often could be wooed to such a state.
‘Eager to hear your plans for the day.’
‘I had hoped I might have the pleasure of entertaining Your Majesty at Bellevue this afternoon.’
‘Nothing could delight me more.’
‘For this evening I have planned a little entertainment. A play, Sire. One which will amuse you.’
‘Written by your old friend Voltaire, I doubt not.’
‘Well, Sire, there are many people writing worse plays, and few better.’
The King laughed. ‘As we do not have to see the author we shall doubtless enjoy seeing his play. Have you heard news of him in Berlin?’
‘Yes, Sire. He writes now and then.’
‘It is a pleasure to remind ourselves that we have one lunatic less at Court.’
The Marquise forced herself to laugh lightly, but she was disappointed. She had hoped to put many honours in the way of her old friend, François Marie Arouet de Voltaire; alas, genius though she considered him to be, he lacked those manners which would make him acceptable at Versailles.
‘I think Your Majesty will enjoy the play.’
‘I am sure of it. You, my dear Marquise, are taking a part?’
‘An important one. But do not ask me to talk of it. I would have it a surprise for Your Majesty.’
He took her hand and lightly laid his lips to it. He was thinking how delightful she was. She always talked good sense. No matter what topic he raised he could be sure that she would throw herself wholeheartedly into it. But she rarely suggested a topic. She waited for his lead. She was a wonderful woman. If only she were a more satisfactory bedfellow, she would be perfect.
He was finding his glances straying very often nowadays; and he would feel faintly annoyed with himself. The Marquise was such a good woman, and he did not want to give her enemies the satisfaction they were looking for.
The Marquise was now smiling at him tenderly, giving not the slightest sign of the alarm she was feeling. During the five years she had been the King’s mistress she had studied every mood of his so that she was often able to read his thoughts.
His next words terrified her. ‘My dear Marquise, I am a little anxious about your health. Can you assure me that you have consulted Quesnay on this matter which is of the utmost importance to me?’
She laughed. None would have guessed that she had begun to feel sick with the apprehension which had seized her. Then tears came suddenly into her eyes. ‘I am so deeply touched,’ she said, ‘because Your Majesty is concerned for my health. Yet, my dearest, you will forgive me if I laugh. I never felt better.’
‘I thought, my dear, that last night you were a little tired . . . a little too easily tired.’
‘Nay, my dear Sire, not I. But do you remember that frightening occasion when you were taken ill in my bed, and Quesnay said that you must take care? Forgive me, Louis, but I cannot forget that occasion and often it sets me trembling.’
‘Death!’ murmured the King. ‘Who knows how near any of us are to it?’ He shook his head mournfully, and the beautiful blue eyes held hers quizzically. He never seemed to tire. Was that what he was telling her?
She smothered a cough and said: ‘What a melancholy subject, and death is far, far from us. We are young yet.’
‘Let us hope that it is far away,’ said Louis.
‘Oh, but I meant to make Your Majesty laugh, and here we are on this melancholy subject. Sire, have you heard of Richelieu’s latest love affair?’
‘No, my dear,’ said Louis. ‘But tell me. The fellow is so outrageous. How does he manage at his age to remain like an eager boy? Tell me that.’
The Marquise laughed lightly. ‘We should remember, Sire,’ she said, ‘that these stories of his prowess are invariably related by himself. This could mean that the powers of Son Excellence are even more amazing after the event than during it.’
Now the King was laughing with her, the Marquise was relieved.
She remembered other scandals with which to amuse Louis, and when he left her he was a great deal brighter than when he had come. It was often thus. He would mount the stairs to her apartment in a melancholy mood, and retire with raised spirits, very often smiling to himself on recalling some amusing anecdote.
Left alone, the Marquise lay down on a couch and tried to suppress the cough which she had been fighting during the interview with the King.
As she lay there the door of the apartment opened and a woman tiptoed in.
‘Is that you, Hausset?’ asked the Marquise.
‘It is I, Madame.’
‘And you were in your little alcove scribbling away while the King was here?’
‘Within reach, should you have needed me, Madame.’
The Marquise smiled rather wanly; there was no need to keep up appearances with her confidential woman who was also her good friend.
Madame du Hausset threw herself on her knees and took the hand of Madame de Pompadour. ‘You’ll kill yourself. You’ll kill yourself,’ she declared passionately.
‘Poor Hausset, then you will be dismissed from the Palace; and how will you then continue with your memoirs? I suppose you could continue with them, though they would not be so interesting, would they? Now you can write about the King and your mistress who is also the King’s. I wonder for how long that will be.’
‘That’s no way to talk,’ said Madame du Hausset.
‘No way indeed. But I am aware of it all the time, you see.
Those people at the toilette . . . did they think I could not read their thoughts?’
‘This dieting of yours, Madame – it is no good to you,’ said Madame du Hausset. ‘Nothing you eat can make you a match for the King. Few women could be.’
‘I fear, Hausset, that I am not a very sensual woman. I must tell you something. There have been nights when the King has slept on the couch in my room. What does that mean?’
‘It means that he has a great regard for you, Madame.’
‘He says, “I will not disturb you.” What does that mean?’
‘That he considers your comfort.’
‘For how long, Hausset, does such a man continue to consider the comfort of his mistress?’
‘It would depend on how deep was his affection for her. Can Monsieur Quesnay do nothing for you?’
‘He has given me drugs and pills, but I remain . . . as has been said . . . as cold as my name.’
‘Then, Madame, take my advice. Give up truffles and diets and doctors’ pills. Eat heartily and what you fancy. I feel sure that will bring you good health more quickly than anything; and with health will come that warmth which the King asks of you.’