Виктория Холт - The Road to Compiegne

Le Bel, connoisseur as he was, thought he had never seen such a beautiful child. Enormous dark eyes sparkled in her oval face, and her heavy bluish-black hair was caught back with a red riband.

She was clearly delighted to be working for François Boucher.

When she had left them Le Bel said: ‘Now that is a pretty creature.’

‘Pretty!’ cried Boucher indignantly. ‘Louise is beautiful.’

‘I see you have painted her. It is certainly an arresting picture.’

‘Yet,’ said Boucher, ‘even I cannot do justice to Louise’s beauty. I have painted her over and over again in an endeavour to satisfy myself.’

‘You are fortunate to have such a model. She seems a good and docile girl, too.’

Boucher nodded. ‘Poor Louise, life is not easy for such as she is. She thinks this place luxurious after the home she comes from.’

‘Was it so bad then?’

‘Bad, my dear sir? When I tell you that her rapacious old mother has sold – yes literally sold – her sisters, you will know what I mean. My beautiful Louise was brought up in a second-hand clothes shop not far from the Palais Royal. Madame O’Murphy could not sell her old clothes dearly enough, so she sold her daughters as well.’

‘O’Murphy. It is a strange name.’

‘The father was an Irishman. He was a soldier at one time, and a man of low character. They put Louise with Madame Fleuret when she was twelve. She is only fourteen now.’

‘Madame Fleuret. Is she the dressmaker?’

‘She carries on a profitable business under the guise of dressmaking. Her place is nothing less than a brothel. And so, to her, for a consideration, the old-clothes-woman sent her all her daughters. I discovered Louise there. I brought her away with me. I can tell you she was delighted to come.’

‘I can well imagine it.’

Louise came into the room again. Le Bel, watching her, knew that she was aware of his eyes upon her.

Le Bel said: ‘Ah, what a relief it is to relax in an artist’s atelier after all the etiquette of Versailles.’

She was an intelligent creature. She had pricked up her ears. She was ready to be interested in the man who lived at Versailles, the great Palace which would seem fabulous to such as she was.

‘Fill Monsieur Le Bel’s glass, Louise,’ said Boucher.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Le Bel. His eyes held those of the girl; they were warm and full of admiration.

Le Bel rose to go in due course and when he descended the stairs to the street he did not immediately leave the neighbourhood. He believed that she would understand he wanted to speak to her privately and would find some excuse for leaving the house shortly after he did.

He was right.

He had only to wait five minutes when, a shawl over her blue-black hair, Louise came into the street.

‘Mademoiselle O’Murphy?’ called Le Bel.

‘Why!’ she cried, feigning surprise in such a way that it amused him. She had a certain sense of humour, this girl. Daughter of an old-clothes-woman she might be, but it was possible that she possessed a certain wit as well as astounding beauty. ‘It is Monsieur Le Bel of Versailles.’

‘I have waited to see you, Mademoiselle. I have something to say to you.’

‘Could you not have said it in Monsieur Boucher’s atelier ?’

‘No, I could not have said it there. You are very beautiful. You must know this.’

‘I have heard it said that that is so,’ she answered pertly yet gravely.

‘I could make your fortune.’

‘Many have offered me fortunes.’

‘I could offer you one more glowing than any you have yet been offered. I could take you to Versailles.’

She mocked him in the argot of the streets. ‘I know, Monsieur Le Bel. You are the King in disguise.’

‘You could be nearer the truth than you think.’

Her smile was mocking, yet he could see that she was alert.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘I will bring a carriage to the end of the street this time tomorrow. Be there. I will take you to Versailles . . . and fortune.’

‘How do I know that you can do this, or will?’

He took a ring from his finger. ‘See this. It is a diamond. It is worth more than you could possess if you spent the rest of your life in Monsieur Boucher’s attic. I will lend it to you until you have so many jewels that this will seem a worthless bauble.’

She took the ring. Its sparkle fascinated her. But she was no fool; she had all the cunning of the streets in her, Le Bel guessed that if she had helped her mother in the old days she would have struck a hard bargain in the Monday market on the Place de Grève.

He knew that tomorrow she would have the ring tested, and when she discovered its value she would be waiting to step into the carriage he would have brought for her.

He was right.

She was there, the shawl over her magnificent hair.

Le Bel smiled at her delightedly. He greatly enjoyed such commissions. They delighted Louis and they were extremely profitable to himself. People were beginning to say that Le Bel was one of the King’s most valued friends.

As he took the girl’s arm and helped her into the carriage he wondered whether to warn her that the person to whom he was taking her was of very high nobility. Perhaps that would not be wise. Louis particularly enjoyed the outrageous remarks and behaviour of the little girls who were brought to le trébuchet . Indeed there were occasions when he himself would make use of a phrase which was indigenous to the St Antoine district and afforded him great amusement because it could never have been heard before in the royal apartments at Versailles.

Le Bel smiled at her, well pleased. She would be a success, he was sure. She was almost unbelievably beautiful and by no means shy. She would be impressed by the grandeur even of the secret apartments, yet not overawed.

‘I must tell you,’ he said, ‘that I am presenting you to a nobleman who has heard of your attractions.’

She nodded. He noticed that she was twirling the ring round and round on her finger.

Certainly the King was going to be very grateful for his adroitness in the case of Mademoiselle O’Murphy.

They left the carriage and entered the Palace by the door which led to the private staircase. If any noticed them they were wise enough to make no comment. Le Bel, hurrying into the Palace with a muffled figure, was not such an unusual sight.

The King was waiting for them in the small apartment under the roof of the Palace, where a table was laid for two. Louise O’Murphy had never seen anything so luxurious. But her attention was all for the nobleman, who believed himself to be sombrely clad but to her seemed magnificent.

He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, although he seemed old in her fourteen-year-old eyes. She was fascinated by his movements, and his voice was the most musical she had ever heard.

He took the shawl from her and threw it to Le Bel who caught it and stood as though waiting.

‘Thank you, my friend,’ said the King. ‘Mademoiselle and I are grateful to you. Goodnight.’

Le Bel retired, grimacing at the shawl in his hands.

The King meanwhile drew Louise towards the table.

‘You are even more beautiful than I believed possible,’ he told her. ‘Your picture does not do you justice after all.’

Louise laughed suddenly – rather harsh laughter it was – and said: ‘Yours does not do you justice either.’

Louis looked surprised but very interested.

‘You know who I am then?’

She nodded. ‘Your picture is on all the coins,’ she told him.

While the King sought to forget the controversy over the Bull Unigenitus in the company of Mademoiselle O’Murphy, the Parlement was not idle. Its President sought an interview with Louis and warned him that there was the utmost danger in the present state of unrest.