The Refugees | Page 6

horse at
Fontainebleau. I remember him. You may give the signal, Bontems."
The chief valet walked swiftly across to the door and threw it open. In
rushed the officer of the ovens and the four red-coated, white-wigged
footmen, ready-handed, silent-footed, each intent upon his own duties.
The one seized upon Bontem's rug and couch, and in an instant had
whipped them off into an ante-chamber, another had carried away the
en cas meal and the silver taper-stand; while a third drew back the great
curtains of stamped velvet and let a flood of light into the apartment.
Then, as the flames were already flickering among the pine shavings in
the fireplace, the officer of the ovens placed two round logs crosswise
above them, for the morning air was chilly, and withdrew with his
fellow-servants.
They were hardly gone before a more august group entered the
bed-chamber. Two walked together in front, the one a youth little over
twenty years of age, middle-sized, inclining to stoutness, with a slow,
pompous bearing, a well-turned leg, and a face which was comely
enough in a mask-like fashion, but which was devoid of any shadow of
expression, except perhaps of an occasional lurking gleam of
mischievous humour. He was richly clad in plum-coloured velvet, with
a broad band of blue silk; across his breast, and the glittering edge of
the order of St. Louis protruding from under it. His companion was a
man of forty, swarthy, dignified, and solemn, in a plain but rich dress
of black silk, with slashes of gold at the neck and sleeves. As the pair
faced the king there was sufficient resemblance between the three faces
to show that they were of one blood, and to enable a stranger to guess
that the older was Monsieur, the younger brother of the king, while the
other was Louis the Dauphin, his only legitimate child, and heir to a
throne to which in the strange workings of Providence neither he nor
his sons were destined to ascend.
Strong as was the likeness between the three faces, each with the
curving Bourbon nose, the large full eye, and the thick Hapsburg

under-lip, their common heritage from Anne of Austria, there was still
a vast difference of temperament and character stamped upon their
features. The king was now in his six-and-fortieth year, and the cropped
black head was already thinning a little on the top, and shading away to
gray over the temples. He still, however, retained much of the beauty of
his youth, tempered by the dignity and sternness which increased with
his years. His dark eyes were full of expression, and his clear-cut
features were the delight of the sculptor and the painter. His firm and
yet sensitive mouth and his thick, well-arched brows gave an air of
authority and power to his face, while the more subdued expression
which was habitual to his brother marked the man whose whole life had
been spent in one long exercise of deference and self-effacement. The
dauphin, on the other hand, with a more regular face than his father,
had none of that quick play of feature when excited, or that kingly
serenity when composed, which had made a shrewd observer say that
Louis, if he were not the greatest monarch that ever lived, was at least
the best fitted to act the part.
Behind the king's son and the king's brother there entered a little group
of notables and of officials whom duty had called to this daily
ceremony. There was the grand master of the robes, the first lord of the
bed-chamber, the Duc du Maine, a pale youth clad in black velvet,
limping heavily with his left leg, and his little brother, the young Comte
de Toulouse, both of them the illegitimate sons of Madame de
Montespan and the king. Behind them, again, was the first valet of the
wardrobe, followed by Fagon, the first physician, Telier, the head
surgeon, and three pages in scarlet and gold who bore the royal clothes.
Such were the partakers in the family entry, the highest honour which
the court of France could aspire to.
Bontems had poured on the king's hands a few drops of spirits of wine,
catching them again in a silver dish; and the first lord of the
bedchamber had presented the bowl of holy water with which he made
the sign of the cross, muttering to himself the short office of the Holy
Ghost. Then, with a nod to his brother and a short word of greeting to
the dauphin and to the Due du Maine, he swung his legs over the side
of the bed and sat in his long silken night-dress, his little white feet

dangling from beneath it--a perilous position for any man to assume,
were it not that