The Road to Compiegne by Jean Plaidy Read Free Book Online Page A

perhaps to wander along the Left Bank, past the Roman remains near the Rue Saint-Jacques, to ascend the hill of Sainte Geneviève.
    She recalled old days in the Hôtel des Gesvres when she had presided over her salon there and had entertained the wits of the day. Then she had not considered each word she uttered; she had not felt this need to watch her every action.
    No, her little Alexandrine should have a more peaceful life than her mother’s. She should be well educated so that she could enjoy the company of wits and savants like Voltaire and Diderot. Yet she should never have to feel this apprehension, this uncertainty: the inescapable fate of a King’s mistress.
    Before going to the Convent of the Assumption she had arranged to dine in the Rue de Richelieu with the Marquis de Gontaut.
    She was approaching the city; and she could now see Notre Dame, the roofs of the Louvre, the turrets of the Conciergerie and the spires of several churches.
    She felt a slight tremor of emotion to contemplate this much loved city in which she had spent so many happy years, dreaming, with her mother, of the glorious future. It seemed strange that, now the glories were realised, she should feel this nostalgia for the old days.
    The streets were more crowded than usual, it seemed, and the carriage must slow down. She wondered why so many people were out this day. Was it a special occasion? It was a Monday, a day when there were no executions in the Place de Grève, but the Fair of the Holy Ghost was being held on that gruesome spot. There was great excitement as the women tried on the second-hand clothes, the sale of which was the purpose of the Fair. There was always a great deal of noise and ribaldry, for the women must necessarily try on the second-hand clothes in public. But that weekly event could not account for so many people in the streets.
    Perhaps Monsieur de Gontaut would be able to explain over dinner.
    The carriage was almost at a standstill now and, when a woman looked in at the window, she saw a grin of recognition.
    ‘The Pompadour!’ cried the woman; and the cry was taken up by others in the street.
    She drew back against the rose-coloured upholstery. There was no need to tell the driver to drive on as quickly as he could. He too sensed the excitement in the streets today. He wanted no trouble.
    It was a sad thought that when the people of Paris called her name it must be in enmity, never in friendship.
    She was relieved when she reached the Rue de Richelieu and found the Marquis de Gontaut waiting for her.
    ‘There is much excitement in the streets today,’ she said. ‘What has happened?’
    As he led her into his house he said: ‘Madame de Mailly is dead; they have been assembling outside her house in the Rue St Thomas du Louvre all day. They are saying that she was a saint!’
    ‘Madame de Mailly, Louis’ first mistress . . . a saint!’
    ‘The people must have their saints, no less than their scapegoats. They say that she encouraged the King to good works when she was with him, and that since she has been cast off and neglected by the King, she has devoted herself to the poor.’
    The Marquise laughed lightly. ‘I wonder whether when I die they will be as kind to me.’
    ‘I beg you, Madame, let us not consider such a melancholy subject. Shall we take a little refreshment before we dine?’
    ‘That would be delightful, but we must not linger, for my little Alexandrine is waiting for me at her convent.’
    The Marquis led his guest into a small parlour and gave orders that wine should be brought. The girl who brought it was young – not more than fourteen – and very pretty.
    Her eyes were round with wonder as they rested on the Marquise, who gave her the charming smile she bestowed on all, however lowly they might be.
    When the girl had gone, she said: ‘A pretty child . . . your serving-maid.’
    ‘Yes, she is still an innocent young girl. It will not be long before she takes a lover. That is