It was incredible. She, with her humble beginnings, could behave as a lady of the Court, and if she felt any rancour towards these young people how successfully she hid it!
He was ashamed of his family: Adelaide’s wild schemes for turning the Marquise from Court, the stupid acquiescence of her sisters, who could do nothing it seemed but wait for their cue from Adelaide. As for the Dauphin, he had behaved like an ill-mannered schoolboy. The King had actually seen him put out his tongue at the Marquise’s back.
Yes, when he considered his family, he was not very pleased with their conduct. He was even glad that Madame Louise-Elisabeth, Anne-Henriette’s twin whom they always considered the eldest member of the family, had left Versailles, although when she had arrived on a visit so recently he had been delighted to have her with him.
Compared with their sister, known as Madame Infanta, the other girls seemed gauche, and he felt ashamed of them and of himself for not more seriously considering their educations.
Adelaide had immediately become jealous of the attention he paid Louise-Elisabeth, and in her wild way had formed a party to work against her. Moreover Louise-Elisabeth had made friends with Madame de Pompadour – perhaps to spite her sisters and brother – and thus had given further pleasure to her father.
But very soon he understood that it was the ambitions of Madame Infanta which were largely responsible for the affection she had shown for her father. She longed for a throne; she was disgusted that a daughter of a King of France was asked to be content with the Duchies of Parma and Placentia which had come to her through the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle. She had grandiose ambitions; she would like to see France go to war once more in order that conquests should be made and a throne secured for herself; and she wanted Joseph, the son of the Empress Maria Theresa, as a husband for her little daughter.
They had made a statesman of his daughter at the Spanish Court. But finding her so demanding, such a disturber of his peace, in spite of his joy in the reunion, Louis could not but be relieved when she left Versailles.
Now he would take coffee with his younger daughters. It was a little ritual which never failed to amuse him. Moreover he must discover how far the Dauphin was carrying on his intrigues under cover of his sisters.
He went to the kitchen of the petits appartements and prepared coffee. When it was ready he put it on a tray, and himself went to Adelaide’s apartment by way of the private staircase.
Adelaide’s eyes shone with pleasure when she saw him; with a gesture she dismissed the woman who was with her. She curtsied vehemently – all her gestures were vehement – and Louis thought she looked a little wilder every time he saw her.
‘Coffee . . . dearest Sire; this has made my day happy.’
‘My dearest daughter,’ said the King, ‘do not grow so excited. I beg of you, rise. It is in the pursuit of informality that I come to you thus.’
‘Dearest Papa!’ Adelaide laughed. ‘I must ring for Victoire. But first let us enjoy a few moments alone . . .’
‘Alone,’ repeated the King. ‘Is it possible to be entirely alone? It seems that, even when we imagine ourselves to be, there are those to watch unseen and listen.’
Adelaide put her fingers to her lips. ‘Intrigue . . .’ she murmured. ‘Intrigue all about us!’
‘My dear, how you thrive on it! But let me give you some coffee.’
‘Dearest Papa, no coffee tastes like the coffee you brew.’
‘You flatter me, daughter.’
‘That would be impossible. Whatever pleasant things were said of you and all you do, could only fail in truth because they did not praise enough.’
‘Why, you are learning to pay very flowery compliments, Adelaide. How goes intrigue? What do you ask of me today?’
‘Leniency for those poor Jesuits, Sire. Are they not holy men? I know Madame de Pompadour hates them and wishes to see them robbed of their power. That is natural enough, is it not? She fears the men of the Church. Why, were they to succeed in making you repent she would get her congé.’
‘Oh,’ murmured Louis, ‘no doubt if I listened to the men of the Church I should not indulge in what I have heard called “orgies” with my charming daughters.’
Adelaide stamped her foot angrily. ‘Orgies . . . what nonsense!’
‘I am very fond of you,’ murmured Louis. ‘Perhaps we drink too much at our little suppers – our intimate suppers which we and we alone share.’
Adelaide continued to stamp her foot. Her face was flushed scarlet. ‘Nonsense! Nonsense!’ she cried.
‘Now, my dear, ring for your sisters. Their coffee will be cold.’
Adelaide pulled the bell which was connected with Victoire’s appartements next to her own, and in a few minutes Victoire came hurrying in. Adelaide watched her sternly while she curtsied to their father.
‘And you rang for Sophie?’ asked Adelaide.
‘Yes, Adelaide.’
‘Well, my dear, I have made this coffee. Come,’ said the King. ‘Sit beside me and tell me your news.’
It was five minutes later when Sophie appeared.
She curtsied to her father and Louis was amused to see how her eyes turned to Adelaide as though she were asking what she must do next.
‘You rang for Louise-Marie?’ asked Adelaide. Sophie put her hand to her mouth. ‘You have forgotten again,’ scolded Adelaide. ‘Then go back and ring for her immediately.’
Sophie shambled away. Louis avoided looking at her; he was not very proud of his daughter Sophie. Even Victoire did not attract him very much. She was by no means gay and of course completely dominated by Adelaide.
‘What were you doing when you heard the bell?’ Louis asked her.
Victoire looked at Adelaide as though for inspiration. Adelaide said sternly: ‘Go on. His Majesty has asked a question and expects an answer.’
‘I was sitting in my bergère,’ said Victoire, glancing anxiously at Adelaide to see that her answer had met with approval.
‘Sitting,’ said the King. ‘And reading perhaps?’
‘Oh no,’ answered Victoire. ‘I was eating. It was chicken and rice.’ Her eyes sparkled at the memory.
‘And you would rather be there in your bergère now, eating chicken and rice, than taking coffee with your father?’
Victoire looked at Adelaide. ‘Certainly you would not,’ said Adelaide. ‘You appreciate the great honour of drinking coffee which is not only served but prepared by His Majesty.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Victoire.
‘Make the most of the honour,’ said the King. ‘I fear it is all you can enjoy. The coffee itself has grown cold through such delay. And, ah, here is Sophie.’
‘Did you ring for Louise-Marie?’ Adelaide asked her.
Sophie nodded.
Of all his daughters, Louis thought, Sophie was the most unattractive. It appeared that she could not look him straight in the face, for she had an irritating habit of peering at him sideways. Adelaide said it was not at him only that she looked in this way. People frightened her, and often she did not speak a word to anybody for days at a time. Sometimes she threw herself into the arms of her waiting-women and wept, but when she was asked why she did this, she was not sure.
‘Come, my child,’ said Louis now, ‘you would like some coffee?’
Sophie looked at Adelaide. Adelaide nodded, and Sophie said as though making a great effort: ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
Louis was aware of Adelaide’s eyes on Victoire. Something was afoot, he realised, and wondered what. Evidently Victoire had some duty to perform and Adelaide was reminding her of this.